


Be Tender With Me Now

by igotout



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, F/M, Frottage, Homophobic Language, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Mild Cheating, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Self-Esteem Issues, Switch Dean, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, not between dean and cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igotout/pseuds/igotout
Summary: It had been so long since Cas had left for Grad School. Dean had missed him, painfully so, in the eight years between then and now, although he never acknowledged that that was the root of the aching hole in his life.Sam tells him that Castiel is coming back and Dean doesn’t quite know what to do. Cas had made it clear that he didn’t feel the same as Dean, that he would never—. Dean couldn’t let himself think about that or he just might lose it. He likes to think he’s done okay for himself, working two part time jobs while permanently single, living at home with his increasingly alcoholic father.But then he hears about Cas. How Cas has a doctorate, and a nice house on the good side of town. A long-term partner.Dean can’t seem to reconcile the idea of the Cas from before, with the Cas in front of him. It’s complicated by the fact that John is a suspect in the kidnapping of a teenage girl, and Castiel's partner is a journalist covering the story.Dean will struggle through it, he supposes. He always does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pls Read my acknowledgements, they are great. 
> 
> First of all, the biggest thanks imaginable to HDP. I love you and I owe you anything and everything you could ever ask for. Halz and Frecks and Destimushi y'all kept me sane and talked me through how things work and how to not fuck it up. 
> 
> La_Rubinita, this would not be more than a few thousand words without you. Thank you for running the daily sprints even when I misbehaved so atrociously. Thank you for all your hard work while I did everything at the last possible second. I love u!!!!!!! 
> 
> Fanforfanatic. Fan I don't even know how to thank you. You have helped me every step of the way, encouraging me to keep going when I low key wanted to quit, and told it to me straight when I asked (however jokingly) if people would mind an unresolved ending in the middle of a sentence. You are this baby's aunt, but I don't expect you to babysit it ever. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love u lots!!!!
> 
> To my Beta's (who there were quite a few of, sorry for panicking and getting the equivalent of the entire population of California to read my fic lmao, my bad), thank you so much. NerdGirlsAreTheBestGirls, you stuck with me through the sparing thick and the copious thin. Thank you for your patience and kindness and willingness to keep cheering me on even when I was pretty much legally pronounced dead. Just kidding that didn't happen but you know what I mean!! 
> 
> To Anjika-flan, my artist, thank you so much for bringing this fic to life with your beautiful art. We made a great team!
> 
> I want to say that this fic would not exist had it not been for light of my life, Point Pleasant. This story changed me as a writer, and I appreciate it to this day. To Jen Archer Wood, thank you for inspiring me, and for telling me to believe in myself. 
> 
> And lastly, to me! I did it!!! I did it when I believed I could but especially when I believed I couldn't! hooray I love u self u did so good even though your dumb brain kept distracting you with fun thoughts like "this is pointless," and, "you suck," and also, "do you think Jesus ever masturbated?" Thanks for that last one. 
> 
> If you read all of this, it's either about you, or you're really sweet and I love you. This story is a LABOUR of LOVE and I really hope you enjoy it, and that it makes you feel all the things I tried to pour into it. 
> 
> Okay, you can read the thing now, xo

 

It had been a while since Dean had heard that name. A year or two at least. No one really brought him up anymore, he’d been gone so long.  
  
“What?” He asked, rinsing off the plates from dinner. Dean had made the roast himself, just like Mary used to on Sunday afternoons.  
  
“I said, why didn’t you tell me about Cas?” Sam repeated, leaning against the counter.  
  
Dean tried to meet his brother’s eye, but found he couldn’t. Why was he bringing this up now? It happened years ago, it was long in the past. How did Sam even find out? He focused on loading the plates into the washer, his hands feeling shaky. It had been long enough, he supposed. Maybe it was time to spill.  
  
“I didn’t know what to say, really.” Dean said quietly to the box of detergent in his hands.  
  
“Dean, come on. All you had to say was, ‘Hey Sam, did you hear Cas was moving back to town?’, and I would say, ‘Gee Dean, I had no idea. Thanks for telling me instead of leaving me to find out from Mrs. Doolan, who I haven’t lived next to for three years’.”  
  
Hang on.  
  
“What?” Dean was squeezing the detergent so hard at this point that the box was starting to crumple beneath his fingers.  
  
“Really?” Sam asked, not trying to hide his eye roll.  
  
“No, repeat that, Castiel is moving back? To here?” Dean asked, suddenly finding it very hard to focus on anything except how his brain was sounding all kinds of alarm bells.    
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, frowning, “Wait, you didn’t know?”  
  
Dean shook his head.  
  
“How would I know, I don’t talk to him.”  
  
“Then what did you think I was talking about?” Sam asked.  
  
Dean shrugged, closing the dishwasher and pressing Start, so that he didn’t have to look his brother in his stupid, earnest face.  
  
“Okay. Well anyway, apparently he’s moving back at the end of the month, just down the street from my old place.”  
  
“Cool. I guess it would suit him now, living on the fancy side of town – Master’s degree and all that.”  
  
Sam looked at him with a small, confused frown.  
  
“Dean, he got his doctorate.”  
  
“Did he?” Dean swallowed awkwardly, shuffling back to the table to grab his beer.  
  
“Yeah. How come you don’t know this?”  
  
“I told you, I don’t talk to him,” Dean said.  
  
He aimed his beer for his mouth and missed by an inch. He cleared his throat and put it back down, giving up. He still hadn’t looked at Sam.  
  
Sam folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the counter. Dusk was settling in behind him, and the light came through the window in a way that made him look older than he was.  
  
“You guys were inseparable. You even talked about moving with him to Sacramento. You’re telling me you just... Lost touch? With Cas?  
  
Dean said nothing, but fiddled with the label on his bottle.  
  
“You got something to tell me?” Sam asked, shifting gears.  
  
“Nope,” Dean replied – a bit too quickly.  
  
“Okay,” Sam said, watching his brother closely, “Then why are you acting like I found your stash of man-porn?”  
  
Dean tried to act natural, to casually lean against the dining table and scratch his chin like he was slightly confused, but not at all affected by the current conversation. Instead he lost his balance, knocked his beer bottle off the table, and went bright red.  
  
“Smooth.” Sam said.  
  
“Fuck off.” Dean grumbled, picking up the spilled bottle before tossing down some paper towels.  
  
“Okay, can do - but first you need to tell me what’s going on.” Sam said, calm as anything.  
  
Dean sighed. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and decided to sit, leaving the spill for later.  
  
“We had a disagreement.”  
  
“What about?”  
  
He finally chanced a look at his brother, who had moved away from the counter in order to pull out a chair next to Dean.  
  
“I mean. There was an issue.”  
  
“Oh okay, that really clears things up.”  
  
Dean sighed, rest his forehead on his palm, “It’s, uh... Embarrassing.”  
  
“Just say it, like ripping off a band-aid.”  
  
“Okay, so. Cas is generally considered to be an attractive guy, you know, by a lot of people. And I...”  
  
“You were attracted to him.”  
  
“I mean I wouldn’t choose those words personally, but I suppose some would describe the situation that way.”  
  
“Okay, so what was the issue.”  
  
“It may or may not have been that he found out about the particular situation that you mentioned.”  
  
“He found out you were attracted to him?”  
  
“Your words, not mine.”  
  
“Okay, so what’s the problem. Wait, did he have a problem with it?” Sam asked, his voice taking on a sharp tone.  
  
“No, no. No problem. He didn’t really care. Said he was flattered.”  
  
“Oh,” Said Sam, “Well that’s okay.”  
  
“Is it?” Dean said bitterly, mostly to himself.  
  
“Oh,” Sam said, realization appearing on his face the way that dawn creeps in after night, “Well, shit,” he added,  running his thumb along a crease in the table cloth, “What, and then he just left for grad school and you stopped speaking to him?”  
  
“Hm. No. It was just before I started college.  He left two years later.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam said, staring at him wide eyed, “Why didn’t you say anything? I could have been there for you, or distracted you, something!”  
  
Dean smiled at his brother, a small thing.  
  
“Nah, it was fine. Didn’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill.”  
  
“So it was just ‘Hey buddy, I think you’re cute’?”  
  
Dean shifted in his seat, not wanting to divulge the extent of his crush.  
  
“Uh, yeah. ”  
  
“Wow, so you really liked him then. I’m sorry, man.”  
  
“It’s fine, it was a long time ago,” Dean said, rubbing at his chin, not meeting Sam’s eyes.  
  
“Yeah, but he’s moving back here, and you just said you had feelings for him.” Sam said, looking about ready to call in an emotional support squad.  
  
“I didn’t say I had feelings for him!  I don’t have feelings about stuff except the car, and my own ass. And your ass too sometimes, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”  
  
“Because that’s healthy,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Honestly Sam, it’ll be fine,” Dean replied, waving him off.  
  
“If you’re sure,” Sam seemed hesitant.  
  
“I’m sure. Go home to your girl, it’s nearly ten.”  
  
“Okay, Dean.”  
   
  Once Sam had left, Dean sat down on the old couch in the living room of his family home.  The stairs were just to his left, the ones Mary had fallen down. He was never sure whether to feel more creeped out or reassured by the knowledge that she had died a handful of feet from where he sat in the evening to watch TV. It was a bit morbid, but people passed away at home all the time, Dean figured. And living here, alone in the house where his mother died and his father ran away from was a lot cheaper than finding a shitty apartment to live in by himself.    
  
Dean scratched at his chin, gazing blankly at the photos on the mantle. The frames and their contents hadn’t changed since before Mary had fallen. John didn’t like things in the house changing, and Dean was happy to let him have his way. Not that John was home all the often. The last Dean had heard, his father had gone up to Cleveland to do some seasonal work. Construction, or maybe something to do with all the farms up there. Dean wasn’t sure, and if John wanted to hide in corners of the world and pretend he was someone who wasn’t weighed down by grief, that was fine by Dean.  
He made a mental note to try call his father on Saturday, and went upstairs to get ready for bed.  
   
 ____________________________________________________________________________  
   
   
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_09/03/2008_  
  
_Hi Dean,_  
  
_I just made it to Sacramento! The drive up is so beautiful; we should definitely do it sometime. My apartment is old and dirty, but the campus is so leafy and full of sunshine. I really like it here._  
  
_I hope you had a good summer with your uncle Bobby._  
  
_I’ll call you tomorrow morning!_  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas_  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_09/10/2008_  
  
_Dean,_  
  
_It’s weirdly sunny for September, not that I’m complaining. Classes are starting soon, and I’ve been offered a job as a TA in the humanities department, for the undergraduates. I’m so excited!  I’m trying to narrow down what my thesis could be. But enough about that._  
  
_How are you? And Sam? When does your school year start?_  
  
_Let me know when you’re free to chat, I don’t want to bother you while you’re out grocery shopping again. I have a lot to tell you, and I want to hear what’s new at home._  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas_  
  
____________________________________________________________________________    
  
_To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_From: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_09/13/2008_  
  
_Hi Cas,_  
  
_Sorry, I’ve been busy with stuff. Good to hear that you’re liking Sacramento and that things are working out. Everything is still the same here – it’s barely been two weeks since you left. I should be free to chat this weekend, but we’ll see what happens._  
  
_Make sure you talk to people, and make some new friends._  
  
_Dean_  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
The next morning, Dean went about his day as he usually would, despite all the mental effort put into wondering what Castiel was doing right now. Did he still shower in the morning and then completely ignore his hair, or had he learned about personal grooming standards since he left?  
  
By the time Dean got into work, he’d wound himself up a little bit, but perhaps that could be blamed on the bad night’s sleep. Dean didn’t mind his job so much. He worked at a coffeeshop downtown (a cute little place, Ellen had named it ‘The Depot’), in the lobby of an office tower.  
  
“That you, Dean?”  
  
“Morning, Ellen.” He said, darting around the counter and into the back of the shop.  
  
“Can you come in here a sec?”  
  
“Sure, what’s up?” He poked his head into her small office.  
  
“We have someone doing a trial today at two, and there’s a delivery of coffee cups scheduled for sometime between eight and eleven. Also that guy from the accounting place is coming in for an order of muffins around lunch, alright?”  
  
“Yessir.” Dean said, giving her a smile as he put on his apron.  
  
“Dean?” Ellen said.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Ellen just looked at him for a minute  
  
“I heard about that boy moving back to town.”  
  
Dean sighed, suddenly feeling tired.  
  
“Jeez, Ellen... Was I the only one who didn’t know?”  
  
“Are you gonna be okay?”  
  
Dean shrugged, closely inspecting the paint on the doorway in front of him.  
  
“Go on then, get to work.” She said, with a sigh.  
  
He nodded at Ellen before leaving her office, going back out behind the counter.  
  
“Morning, Handsome!”  
  
“That’s workplace harassment, Charlie”.  
  
“I just can’t help myself, you’re too attractive.”  
  
“You’re gay.”  
  
“That’s homophobic.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and started wiping the counter.  
  
“Busy this morning?” He asked. He started at seven, but Charlie usually opened at five thirty. Ellen came and went as she pleased.  
  
“It was okay. Not too many people.  
  
“Yeah, and now it’s rush hour,” Dean said, his brow furrowed.  
  
“Stop grumping, it’ll be fine. The day goes faster when it’s busy.”  
  
Dean hummed in agreement, not wanting a fast day. He wanted the next month to be as slow as possible, because he knew that once Castiel was in town, Dean would be constantly keeping an eye out for him. Not in hopes of running into him, but so that he could avoid him with one hundred percent accuracy.  
  
“Are you excited about tonight?” Charlie asked.    
  
“‘Course I am. I love taking my lesbian friend out for Valentine’s Day dinner” He replied, setting up the coffee machine the way he liked it.  
  
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” She said.  
  
“I was being serious! If I ever get married, I’m still spending Valentine’s with you.”  
  
“And what if I get married?”  
  
“You’re kicking me to the curb? Heartbreaker.” Dean said, smiling as his first customer of the day walked in.  
  
Dean finished work at the coffee shop around one, and swung by his second job at Jo’s house to check his schedule for tomorrow. He was home by five thirty, and got ready for his ‘date’ with Charlie.  
  
“Hey gorgeous, you need a ride?” He called out the open window, pulling up to her house.  
  
“A mysterious, handsome man, stealing me away into the night? Count me in.” Charlie replied, opening the door and pretending to swoon as she dropped herself down into the passenger seat.  
  
She had a yellow dress on that clashed with her hair, but she still looked beautiful. Dean told her as much.  
  
The drive to Fable was quiet. Charlie watched the city go by outside her window. Dean tried hard to think about anything other than where Cas was tonight, and if he was with anyone. He let himself wallow for a few minutes, feeling sorry for himself, before he decided to pull his head in. He didn’t say much until they’d been seated at the table he’d reserved last month.  
  
“So,” Charlie said, “What’s up, Buttercup?”  
  
“Nothin’,” Dean replied, smiling, “I’m at dinner with a beautiful girl and love is in the air.”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
“That hurts my feelings, Charlotte.”  
  
“Shut your pretty mouth. Are you getting a drink?”  
  
Dean had a look at the menu, thinking it over.  
  
“I’ll have a beer,” He said, “But then I’ll switch to water. Someone’s gotta drive your drunk ass home.”  
  
“Great, so the champagne is all for me?” Charlie asked, her eyes twinkling.  
  
“Duh.”  
  
After the waiter brought Dean’s beer with a glass to pour it into, and Charlie’s bottle of Champagne in a bucket of ice, he took their order, and then left them alone.  
  
“So. What’s new with you?” Charlie asked.  
  
Dean shrugged.  
  
“Not much. What’s new with you?” He said. He couldn’t quite meet her eye, and instead focused on making sure his knife was lined up perfectly with his fork.  
  
“Hmm,” Charlie said, her eyes narrowed, “That sounds like something someone with news they didn’t want to share would say.”  
  
“I don’t have news,” Dean insisted, trying to look like he was telling the truth.  
  
“Don’t lie to me.”  
  
“I’m not lying!”  
  
“Yes, and we’re a couple of heterosexuals out for a romantic evening. Spill the gossip, Winchester.”  
  
“I, uhh. I don’t want to talk about it,” He tried.  
  
“Don’t care. Spill.”  
  
Dean sighed. He did want to talk about it, of course he did, but vulnerability wasn’t one of his strong suits. He chewed his lip, thinking.  
  
Deep breath.  
  
“Castiel is moving back to town. Apparently.”    
  
Charlie looked at him for a moment, her eyebrow raised.  
  
“Castiel, the straight guy who broke your heart Castiel?”  
  
“He didn’t--” Dean sputtered.  
  
“Castiel, the guy who was very straight and had nothing to do with you or your feelings?”  
  
“Um. The one and only.” Dean said, shifting nervously in his seat.  
  
“Wow,” Charlie said, picking up her champagne, “You really don’t have any news.”  
  
Dean watched as she rolled her eyes and chugged her glass of bubbles.  
  
“Classy. It’s not a big deal, Charlie.”  
  
“Shut up. Level with me here. You have to be honest, we’re on a love date of romance.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, taking a second to collect himself, “Sam told me he’d heard that Cas-- uh, that Castiel would be here by the end of the month.”  
  
“Well that’s, what, two weeks away?” Charlie said, “What are you going to do?”  
  
“Nothing. Avoid him.”  
  
“It’s been a long time, maybe things are different now.”       
  
Dean studied the label on his beer bottle, not trusting himself to talk.  
  
“Dean, I’m serious. What if you run into him,  you’re just going to give him the silent treatment?” Charlie asked, leaning toward him over the table.    
  
“I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” He said.  
  
“Not a big deal? Oh well as long as we’re blatantly lying to each other, I think you should know that I’m pregnant, and Sam is the baby-daddy.”  
  
“Mazel tov.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Charlie said, completely exasperated.  
  
“What, Charlie? What do you want me to do? Be his friend? Kiss his ass? There’s no point.”  
  
“Why not? You were friends once. So you asked him out and he turned you down. I know you’re emotionally stunted, but it’s been, what, eight years? Rejection sucks dude, but it’s time to move on.”  
  
Dean grit his teeth. This is what he got for keeping everything locked up inside, neat and tidy, he supposed. Maybe she was right, and all he needed was to get this thing off of his chest, this big secret. Maybe then he’d be fine once March came and Castiel was within fifty miles of him again. Wouldn’t feel sick every time he imagined running into him somewhere around town.  
  
“It wasn’t--” He started, “I didn’t just ask him out for a drink.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, after a pause.  
  
Dean sighed.  
  
“You remember how we met?” He asked.  
  
“Yeah, at the university library. You were working there right?”  
  
“Right. That’s where I met Cas too.” Dean said.  
  
He remembered the exact moment he saw Cas. He’d been sorting poetry books and this tall, striking man had walked past him, spared him a small smile. Cas had been twenty years old then. Newly liberated from his over-zealous, god-fearing family, and ready to start college, even if it was a little later than most. He loved the library, Dean remembered, all the access to piles and piles information that his parents banned from their house. Dean had been eighteen, and so impressed by his handsome older friend who got to live on campus and go to classes.  
  
“You were really into him, I remember that.” Charlie said, looking at him, mildly confused.  
  
“It was...” He paused, willing himself to say it, “More. More than that.”  
  
“Oh.” She said, quiet and soft.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, chewing his lip, steeling himself to say the worst of it,  “I told him about it,” He managed to get out, not looking anywhere but at his placemat.  
  
“Dean,” Charlie reached out to touch his hand, “You were very brave, okay? That takes guts.”  
  
Dean nodded, still not meeting her eye.  
  
“Remember what he was like? It wasn’t really talked about in his home, growing up. He thought homosexual was a curse word,” She said, not unkindly.  
  
“He thought I meant that I loved him like a friend,” Dean said, voice catching in his throat, “He said he loved me too, and it was the best two seconds of my life.”  
  
“Oh, honey,” Charlie said, and there was pity in her voice.  
  
“But then he didn’t quite understand,” Dean continued, needing to push through, to get it all out, “And I had to sort of... Take his hand. Tell him I wanted to kiss him, and hold him in a way that friends don't. Know him biblically, as it were.”  
  
Charlie took a moment to just look at him, and he felt the embarrassment beginning to swirl in his chest. He pulled his hand away from hers and took another deep pull on his beer. Sharing wasn’t working, he felt miserable.  
  
“So what happened?” Charlie asked.    
  
Dean hesitated, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.  
  
“He didn’t really get it,” Dean shrugged, “From what he could see, I’d taken girls on dates, kissed them at parties. I wasn’t ‘Gay’. Maybe he thought I was kidding, or trying to scare him. I don’t know. We went back to being buddies, and that was that.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, looking sad. Looking like she pitied him.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean replied, feeling uncomfortable with the weight of what he just revealed, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”  
  
“Okay, I think our entrees are coming out, so I’ll bargain with you,” She started, “No more talking about this tonight. We eat until we feel sick and I get drunk, that’s the rules.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean agreed, watching the waiter put down his plate of buffalo chicken wings.  
  
“Good. Now, let’s talk about me, and all my romantic prospects,” Charlie said, picking up her soup spoon.  
  
Dean gave her a tight smile and prepared to listen. He thought he’d feel better after telling her, treating it like an old story.  
  
Of course, he didn’t tell her that he tried again. That he went home to his mother and cried his eyes out onto her pillow while she stroked his hair with a shaky hand. That she talked him into having resolve and not to give up on someone he loved. That he spent his two years at college involved with the GSA, and asked Castiel to attend the Pride parade that he had helped organize. That he went on dates with boys he didn’t like, just to get the point across. That, nearly two years later, he’d sat by Clinton Lake with Castiel as the sun set on Graduation day.  
  
_“You looked great up there, you know,” He’d said, as they dangled their feet off the dock and into the cool lake below._  
  
_“Thank you,” Castiel had smiled at him. They were sitting so close together. Their feet keep catching in the water as they’d swung them gently back and forward. The wind swirled in the trees behind them._  
  
_“Really, the cap and gown... You were impressive.”_  
  
_Castiel had ducked his head, looking pleased.  They sat there, so close, watching the gentle waves of the lake rolling in towards them, splashing softly into the wood below._  
  
_“I’m moving to Sacramento in the fall,” Castiel had said then, looking out across the water, “I got accepted into that master’s program I wanted.”_  
  
_“Oh,” Dean’s heart had clenched in his chest, but he had smiled, “That’s great. I’m so proud of you, Cas.”_  
  
_Castiel smiled at him again. “I’ll miss you,” He’d said to Dean, the soft pinks and oranges from the tail end of the sunset reflecting off the water, making him look like something out of a dream. Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe._  
  
_“I’ll miss you too,” He’d said. Then he’d reached out his hand, so carefully. He’d placed it over Castiel’s, curling his own fingers into his friend’s palm. Cas had looked at him still. Dean had leaned across the small gap between them, and gently pressed his lips to Castiel’s, just a little, just for a second._  
  
_“I love you,” He had spoken so softly, “I really do.”_  
  
_Castiel had squeezed his hand then, and looked back towards the horizon, the sun almost completely gone, it’s golden hues fading slowly with it._  
  
_“I know, Dean,” He had replied, just as quiet, “I understand now”._  
  
_He pulled his hand away then, placing it back in his lap with the other. Dean pulled back, out of Castiel’s space, tucking his own hands under his arms. The breeze from across the lake had picked up then, causing him to shiver. His feet were getting cold._  
  
_“I’ll still miss you,” Castiel said then._  
  
_“Okay.” Dean had replied, eyes closed._  
  
_“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, sounding hesitant, “I know this must hurt...”_  
  
_Dean shook his head, swallowing against the lump forming at the back of his throat. “It’s fine, Cas. Forget about it,”._  
  
_“I’m not—,” Cas had sighed, looking pained, “I care deeply for you Dean, but I’m not the same as you. I don’t... Feel the way you do. About men.”_  
  
_Dean had nodded then, choking slightly in an effort to stay composed. He hadn’t wanted to cry there, in front of Castiel. He had pulled his feet up and onto the dock._  
  
_“See you later,” He’d said,  shoving his socks in his pocket and his shoes under his arm. His throat had felt so thick. He had quickly walked the length of the dock, back toward to solid ground, with the waning light, and Castiel, behind him. Castiel had said nothing._  
  
He never told anyone about that.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
  
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_09/14/2008_  
  
_Dean!_  
_It’s great to hear from you. I’ll definitely try to give you a call on the weekend._  
_I’ve met with the other TA’s in my department, and they’re all really great. Don’t worry, you taught me how to play nice, remember? :)_  
  
_There’s this one guy, Garth, he’s so funny. Reminds me a lot of you, although not as muscular. In fact, not muscular at all. To be honest, the resemblance is entirely non-physical, unless you count the fact that you both exist in human bodies, but I digress._  
  
_The other guy, Marv, is a total dick, but luckily we work different days. There’s also a nice woman named Meg, and she’s offered to show me around the city, so that I can get my bearings. The people here are very kind._  
  
_How are your mom and Sam? How’s college?_  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_From: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_09/18/2008_  
  
_Hey Cas,_  
  
_Won’t be able to call this weekend, Uncle Bobby needs extra hands in his salvage yard. Had a big lump of a car crash dropped on his door step and we gotta move it._  
  
_Sam’s good, college is going well for him. My mom is doing ok._  
  
_Garth is probably a great guy. Or a murderer._  
  
_Meg sounds nice._  
  
_Dean._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
Dean tried to ignore the end of February as though it wasn’t rapidly approaching. He went to work, kept his head down and got through the days. Sam kept asking if he was alright, which Dean worked hard to assure his brother that he was, trying to mask the fact that his insides felt like lead snakes. They were well into March before Sam brought ‘It’ up, ruining Dean’s lunch-break.  
  
“Do you want to come over later for the game?” Sam asked, leaning one elbow on their table at Café Alta.  
  
“What game?” He asked. Sam had been trying to make increasingly vague plans involving Dean going to his house which was nearer the house that Castiel had probably moved into already.    
  
“Uh... I’m sure there’s one on”, said Sam, with all the confidence of someone talking out of their ass.  
  
“No thanks.”  
  
“You can’t just not come over ever again because Castiel lives kind-of, sort-of nearby, Dean!”  
  
“Oh, Castiel moved in huh?” Dean said nonchalantly, feigning interest in his fork, “You’d think they clean the cutlery between customers,” he muttered.  
  
“Yeah, him and this other guy, emptied a huge truck worth of stuff into the green house on the corner of Maple and Lance, you know the one.”  
  
“Well, there goes the neighborhood.”  
  
“Come on, man,” Sam said, abandoning his salad bowl, “Are you still into him or something?”  
  
“Why would you ask me that?” Dean frowned.  
  
“Uh, because it’s been like twelve decades and you’re acting so weird about this whole situation.”  
  
“Am not.”  
  
“You are too! You can’t avoid an entire chunk of town just because he lives there now.”  
  
“I’m not, I just don’t want to go to your stupid house.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Samantha.”  
  
Sam sighed and lowered his voice.  
  
“Be real with me here, how bad did you have it?”  
  
“Okay, you know what? I don’t have to--” Dean cut himself off, standing up from the table and digging out his wallet, “I’ll see you later Sam,” He said, tossing two twenties down next to his empty plate and heading for the exit.  
  
“Later at my house for a sports game?” Sam called after him.  
  
Dean flipped him the bird and pushed open the door to the parking lot. He didn’t appreciate the constant questioning from all sides. He didn’t feel things in relation to Castiel, and he assured himself that he hadn’t for a long time. It was done with, he was sure, that all Castiel was to him anymore was a sense of youthful longing, and a few minutes of pondering during bigger holidays - Where was Castiel for Thanksgiving, was he having a nice Christmas, would he know Dean was thinking of him on his thirtieth birthday? That was all, and Dean was happy to keep that to himself.  
   
It was hard to distance yourself from someone so close to you, but he knew it had been for the best. Knew by the way his chest hurt a little every time he’d see Castiel look at someone else. The way his heart sped up when they were alone together in the quiet hours of the night, when everything was soft and sleepy and sweet. The way that had all stopped when Castiel had left, and Dean had told himself that that was it, they would never speak again if he was lucky. Everyone asked him for updates on his friend, and he had to kind of make it up or just shrug, until they got the hint and stopped asking.  
  
Dean and Castiel had been as thick as thieves, once. Which made it really frustrating now that every man and his dog was letting him know they’d seen Castiel around town. Becky saw him at the grocery store, Lisa saw him getting a new library card, Chuck saw him at the diner down near the hardware store (Not the one on the way back from the cemetery), Ash saw him everywhere due to his predilection for hacking into traffic cameras and watching the world go by - and he told Dean as much.  
  
“You’re a creep, Ash.”  
  
“Let me know if you want tabs on him.”  
  
“I’m calling the police.”  
  
“The Police don’t want to know, and didn’t hear anything about it,” Said Victor, sitting across from him at the Buttercut Bar and Restaurant on a Friday night.  
  
“About what?” Ash asked, winking at Victor before turning to leave.  
  
“Get outta here.” Victor said, rolling his eyes as he reached for his beer, “That kid is gonna get me in trouble one day.”  
  
“Maybe if you hire him as your state approved hacker, you wouldn’t have this problem.” Dean said, picking at his fries.  
  
“I’ve tried! He said that would take all the fun out of it. Likes making me let him do it for free, except then there’s way more paperwork involved.”  
  
“True. And I guess the mullet wouldn’t be allowed down at the station.”  
  
“Hell no, not while Jody’s running the joint.”  
  
“Not while anyone’s running the joint.”  
  
“Cheers to that,” Victor grumbled, lifting his beer in a mock salute.  
  
“Alright time to chug, we have to meet Sam and Bela.”  
  
“If she’s even there.”  
  
“Look,” Dean said, reaching for his wallet, “If there’s any chance he managed to drag Bela into a bowling alley, I’m going to show up to see it, even if the place is overrun with children. Especially if it’s overrun by children.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Said Victor, “I’ll pay the tab, you go get your girl running for me.”  
  
“I swear you’re having an affair with her.”  
  
“What can I say, she’s a beauty.”  
  
“Stop romancing my car.”  
  
“Never.”  
  
    Dean walked to the door, sending Jo a wink on his way outside. It was chillier out here, away from the warmth of all the bodies crammed inside. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and went to start the car.  
      
      
    They arrived slightly late to the bowling alley, held up by Victor needing to say goodbye to the blond he’d met on the way in for a prolonged period of time. They pulled up outside, and Dean could see Sam through the door, leaning against the wall next to Bela, who was wearing the opposite of practical -  heels and a tight dress.  
  
“You look lovely, Bela,” He said, pushing open the outer set of doors to the alley.  
  
“Obviously.” She said.  
  
“You’re really gonna wear a Little Black Dress to go bowling?”  
  
“Yes. It matches the shoes.”  
  
“They give you shoes to wear in there, Bela.” Victor said.  
  
“Not those disgusting clown shoes, I’ve bought a clean, new pair.”  
  
“Wow, you must love bowling a lot to invest in your own gear,” Dean said innocently, moving through to the foyer.  
  
She wrinkled her nose at him, while Sam huffed a laugh.  
  
It took Dean a while to understand what Sam saw in Bela. Obviously she was beautiful, but she could sometimes be kind of a bitch. Dean hoped she was mostly joking. To be fair, his brother did have potential to be a huge bitch if he’d gone too long without a poached egg or some lawn juice, much to Dean’s dismay.  
  
“It’s not lawn juice, Dean, it’s got good stuff in it like spinach and bok choy and kale,” Sam had said, the first time Dean brought out the lawn juice argument.  
  
“Sounds like grass to me.”  
  
“I don’t eat grass, asshole.”  
  
“Are you sure, you’re pretty much a horse anyway.”  
  
“Yes, he is.” Bela had added with a wink.  
  
“That’s- Okay. That’s disgusting. People can die from that, you know.”  
  
“Ahh, but what a way to go,” Bela said, smiling as she wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist.  
  
 They’d been together for almost two years, and while Dean only recently figured out how they clicked, he was glad they did. It seemed almost effortless. Bela gave his brother’s ego a boost, was a good role model in terms of real confidence, and Dean suspected that she enjoyed having someone that could challenge her and keep her humble.  
  
Well, as humble as possible.  
  
 “Maybe we can come bowling again soon? So you can get your money’s worth of your new shoes.” Sam said.  
  
“These shoes are going in the rubbish the minute we’re done here, do you understand?”  
  
“Yeah, ok.” Sam said, smiling as he headed further inside.  
  
“Oh my god,” Dean said as he followed his brother, “Is it Disco night? I think it might be disco night.”  
  
The alley had about fifteen lanes, and was lit up entirely in black light and fluorescent paint. There was a small mirror ball above each lane.  
  
“I’m leaving,” Bela said, stopping abruptly at the sight.  
  
“No you’re not,” Sam said, steering her by the elbow to the counter.  
  
Disco bowling was apparently quite popular, as they had to wait for a few minutes while a group of kids finished off their last frame. Before changing into his shoes, Dean got the first round of beers.  
  
“Didn’t you just have beers with Victor?” Sam asked.  
  
“Those were dinner beers, these are bowling beers,” Dean explained.  
  
“Right,” Sam said, taking his beer with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“You look incredible in your clown shoes, Bela,” Victor said as they were setting up their names in the system.  
  
“Victor, I’ve put your name down as ‘Wanker’ is that okay?” Bela asked sweetly.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, too late anyway.”  
  
“Oh okay,” Victor said, “And what’s your game name, ‘She-devil’?”  
  
“I think it’s ‘Clown Queen’,” Dean added.  
  
“We only get six letters,” Bela said.  
  
“Okay, how about this,” Dean said as he approached the keyboard and elbowed her aside, before hitting some buttons and pressing enter, “You’re playing is ‘jfkgl’.”  
  
“Thank you Dean, I think it has a nice ring to it.” Bela replied, sounding entirely uninterested.  
  
“No problem Be--” Dean did a double take, “You’re entering me in as ‘bigdik’? Thanks.”  
  
“That’s Sam, obviously.”  
  
“Oh okay.” Dean said, nodding as he put his own name in, “Then I’ll play as ‘bgrdik’, because the public has a right to the truth.”  
  
Bela snorted, and swanned over to where ‘bigdik’ was sitting.  
  
They took their time playing, Sam and Viktor having a huge discussion on bowling stances. Bela was actively trying to get gutterballs.  
  
“So,” Bela said, sitting down next to Dean on the grimy faux leather seats, “Sam told me I’m not to ask you about the idiot that moved in next to that loopy old woman.”  
  
“Mrs. Doolan?”  
  
“Yes, that’s the one. Why do we have to do her gardening, can’t she pay someone?” Bela griped, “Anyway. Sam said that you used to know her new neighbor?”  
  
“Sure. We used to be friends. A long time ago.”  
  
“Right.” Bela said, stretching the word out as she studied his face.  
  
“Good chat,” Dean said, moving to stand up.  
  
“Dean,” Bela said, placing a hand on his arm, to keep him from leaving, “Look. I won’t say this again, but I like you. You’re an idiotic lout, but you’re a good brother and a good man. This person, this guy you used to know... If he couldn’t see that, then he’s not worth your time. Let it go. He never deserved you anyway.”  
  
She said it so seriously, so honestly, Dean didn’t quite know how to react.  
  
“Thanks, Bela,” He managed. This was probably the most earnest she’d ever been with him, he thought.  
  
“No problem,” She said, with a small, friendly smile, “Looks like it’s my turn again.”  
  
She stood, sauntering off to take her turn. She threw a gutterball and promptly moved towards Sam, leaning up to kiss his cheek.  
  
Later on, while driving home, Dean thought about how far he'd come since Cas had left. The answer, he realised, was not far at all. He was still single. He worked two part time jobs with no chance of upward movement.  He was a barista, and a glorified receptionist who sometimes went on house calls. Working for Jo’s handyman company was okay, he figured. Sometimes when he went out to fix a drain-pipe, or clear gutters, the clients made him a coffee. Sometimes they weren't home at all and he got to work in peace.  
  
He was happy for Sam, with his position in the law firm and his long term relationship with Bela. He wondered if they would get married. She wasn't so bad, it turned out. And she made Sam happy.  
  
He kicked his shoes off at the door and then went straight to his room to climb into bed. John was either already home, or wouldn't be back until morning, so he turned off all the lights on his way up the stairs.  
  
  
He was watching the news the next morning, while sitting at the small desk in Jo’s front room. There was an old cordless phone next to him and a tv on the dresser against the far wall.  
  
“The story of Missing Person Lacey Gibson is still on-going. If you know anything, please contact the local police department.”  
  
Dean muted the TV and reached for his coffee. He’d had enough depressing news first thing in the morning. The girl was only fifteen and had been gone for two weeks already. He knew that there was only a small chance of finding her alive, but everyone in town was hoping for a happy ending anyway.  
  
  
He had an appointment later that afternoon to clear some old branches off the lawn for a retiree, but otherwise he was getting paid eight dollars an hour to sit on his ass and watch the phone while Ash built custom computer rigs in the other room. Not that he minded. If he was needed at Ellen’s at any point, it would be best that he wasn't tired out.  
  
The phone finally rang just after lunch, and Dean answered it on the second ring.  
  
“Good afternoon, Harvelle Handyman and Tech Central, the name's Dean, how can I help?”  
  
“Yes, good afternoon. I'm looking for someone to hook up our television to the cable? It was just turned on and the idiot from the company did it wrong. We don't want to wait another month for someone to come out, so we're hoping you can help”.  
  
“Sure, name the time and place and we can take care of that for you”.  
  
He made them an appointment for the next morning.  
  
  


 

John was home that evening, and well on his was to getting plastered.  
  
“You alright, Dad?” Dean asked him.  
  
“Fine,” was the answer.  
  
“You had anything to eat?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“Okay, I'm gonna make something, I'll bring you a plate,” he said, heading toward the kitchen.  
  
It only took about fifteen minutes to make some pasta and heat up a can of chopped tomatoes to go on top. He took two bowls to the table where John sat, slumped over his glass of cheap whiskey.  
  
He ate quietly, watching John stir his food around the bowl, dropping most of it on the table or his lap instead of getting it in his mouth. Maybe he should have cooked something easier to skewer, Dean supposed.  
  
“How was work?” He asked.  
  
“Fine,” John mumbled.  
  
“Did you go today?”  
  
“Yep.” He slurred back, but Dean wasn't so sure. Usually he didn't bother getting into his pajamas before bed if he'd been to work that day.  
  
“Okay, Dad”.  
  
He washed the dishes and wiped down the table. He managed to get his father over to the couch in front of the television, which gave him a chance to hide the whiskey. He threw out bottles of the stuff all the time but John started getting new bottles each day after work, expecting there to be none at home.  
  
Dean sighed, putting the bottle at the back of a cabinet behind a sack of potatoes. Hopefully John would just sleep on the couch. Usually he didn't work on weekends, so Dean was hoping his father would just lay on the couch all day snoring, while he went out to fix some guy’s cable. Whatever. Maybe he'd be cute.  
  
Dean wasn't sure how he felt about Cas being back in town. He told himself it was fine and that he didn't care, but he also spent a lot of time wondering where Cas was and what he was like now. Dean hadn't seen him in close to ten years and maybe he wasn't even the same person now. Maybe he'd changed into someone Dean no longer recognized.  
  
He tried not to wonder so much, but he often couldn't help it. He didn't have much going on in his days, if he was honest.  
  


  
  
Dean walked up the paved path to the house on the corner of Maple and Lance. The address rang a bell for some reason, but he couldn’t place it. He knocked on the door and waited.  
  
“Coming!” Came a voice from inside.  
  
The door was opened by a dark haired man who was about his height.  
  
“Hi, are you Dean? I'm Dick Roman. Come in.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Roman.”  
  
“I’m sure. The living room is just through to the right, the one with the TV.”  
  
“Thanks, Mr. Roman. I’ll go ahead and take a look at it.”  
  
“Great. I have to jet but if you're finished before my partner gets home, just lock the door on your way out.” Mr. Roman said, fixing his cufflinks.  
   
“Sure, no problem. I shouldn't be too long.”  
  
“Great. You can give the invoice straight to him if he's home, or just leave it on the table. And don’t touch anything you don’t have to,” Mr. Roman said, leaving the room without a glance in Dean’s direction.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said. What an asshole.  
  
He listened to the man leave, before moving through to the living room. It was a nice house. Yellow walls, lots of sunlight. The couch looked soft and cozy, and there was a knitted blanket slung over the back.  
  
Framed articles lined the walls, and on closer inspection, Dean saw that they were all written by one ‘Richard Roman’. So the guy was a journalist. A successful one, by the looks of things. No wonder he and his partner lived on the good side of town.  
  
Dean turned back to the mess of cables and got to work. The problem was fairly simple - The cable company had brought everything needed for installation, but had just put it together all wrong. Dean sorted it out quickly and then wrote an invoice, which he signed and left on the table by the front door, making sure to touch as many things as he needed to.  
  
He locked the door behind him, and headed back to the office.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_10/17/2008_  
  
_Hi Dean,_  
  
_Haven’t spoken in a while, how are you? You must be pretty busy with school at the moment._  
  
_Things are going well with Meg, we’ve been on a few dates now. She said she’d like to come with me for the holidays, so I’ll have to sort somewhere for the both of us to stay. I don’t think my mother would be pleased to have us sharing a bed under her roof, so I thought maybe we could stay with you during thanksgiving? Or even just Meg, if my mother gets too annoyed about me not being in the house… I don’t know._  
  
_Tell me what’s new with you?_  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_10/30/2008_  
  
_Hi Dean, I really need to confirm with you for Thanksgiving, as we have to book our flights._  
  
_Meg and I are officially dating now, so she’s really excited to come and meet everyone back home. She’s heard a lot about you! She’s also doing an undergraduate in psychology, so she’s excited to discuss it with you._  
  
_Let me know A.S.A.P._  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_From: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_11/02/2008_  
  
_Cas –_  
  
_My dad’s home for Thanksgiving, and he’s fighting with my mom, so the spare room is taken. Sorry._  
  
_And I don’t go to school anymore, so I can’t entertain your girlfriend for you._  
  
_Happy Holidays._  
  
_Dean._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
  
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_11/02/2008_  
  
  
_What? Why aren’t you going to school? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?_  
  
_Also thanks for trying. I’m glad your dad will be with you for the holidays for once, you deserve to have some family time._  
  
_That’s not good about them fighting. Tell your mom Happy Holidays from me, and I hope you have a good time together._  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas._  
  
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_From: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_11/15/2008_  
  
_Sam got accepted into Stanford. Both of us at college is too expensive._  
  
_Mom says happy holidays to you too._  
   
____________________________________________________________________________  
   
_To: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_11/16/2008_  
  
_Dean,_  
  
_I’ve been trying to call you, but you won’t pick up._  
  
_Sam got approved for a bunch of scholarships, didn’t he? Surely he can take out a loan. We talked about this, you can’t sacrifice things you want or need just because you think he deserves it more. Which is untrue, you both deserve to get a good education._  
  
_Please just give me a call._  
  
_Let me know you’re okay._  
  
_Love,_  
_Cas_  
  
___________________________________________________________________________

 _To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com_  
_From: DeanW6769@gmail.com_  
_11/16/2008_  
  
  
_I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business. Leave it alone._  
   
____________________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


The end of March rolled past, taking the last remnants of winter with it. Things had started slowing down at Jo’s business, the missing girl case was all over the news, and Dean had seen hide-nor-hare of Castiel. 

It was the first Tuesday in April, and there was a cop car at the curb when Dean got home. It wasn’t a patrol vehicle, but an old crown vic squad car, and Dean knew something was wrong. 

“Dad?” He called, stepping through the front door. 

“Is that your son, Mr. Winchester?” Dean heard from the living room. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, rounding the corner. 

There were two men standing by the coffee table while John sat on the couch, Jim Beam in hand. 

“Who are you?” Dean asked. 

“I’m Detective Lavigne, and this is my partner, Detective Andrews.” 

“What did he do?” Dean frowned, 

“We’re just here to ask him a couple of questions.”

“What about?” He needed a straight answer.

“That’s only need-to-know at the moment,” Andrews replied, eyes on his notepad. 

“I’d say you questioning my father while he’s drunk puts me on the need to know list.” 

“We just want to know your father’s whereabouts on the twenty-eighth of February and the first of March.” 

“What?” Dean asked, “Uh, he was in Cleveland I think. Right Dad?” 

John just took a swig from his bottle, staring into the middle distance. 

“Why do you need to know that?” Dean asked, turning back to the Detectives, “What is this about?” 

“Can you prove he was in Cleveland?” Lavigne asked him.

“No, he does seasonal work on farms and ranches, shit like that,” Dean said, frowning, “Was he in a car accident?” 

“This is regarding the disappearance of Lacey Gibson,” Andrews said, finally looking up at Dean. 

“...What?” Dean asked, not computing the information, “What do you mean? Did she go missing in Cleveland?” 

Andrews and Lavigne shared a look, and Dean knew then that John was in trouble. 

“So she didn’t go missing in Cleveland,” He stated, thinking on his feet, “And you think my Dad had something to do with it?” 

“We’re just asking questions at this time,” Lavigne said, spreading his hands placating. 

“Look, my dad, he’s—,” Dean swallowed, lowering his voice, “He’s a drunk, and an unreliable employee. But he didn’t kidnap anybody.” 

“Does he have a history of violence?” Andrews asked him, his eyes piercing into Dean. 

“What? No!” Dean said incredulously, shaking his head, “What exactly do you think you have that links that girl to my dad?” 

“We’ve received information regarding her last known location - the description of the man she was seen with matches your father. If you take his criminal record into consideration, it only makes sense to interview him as a Person of Interest,” Lavigne explained. 

Dean grit his teeth, needing to take a deep breath to keep himself steady. 

“So he has a few DUIs and gets in a bar fight and that automatically makes him a potential kidnapper?” Dean asked. 

“Would you prefer we left stones unturned?” Andrews asked sharply.

Dean sighed, and looked at his father, drunk and slumped over on the couch, seeming quite unperturbed for a man being questioned about a missing person.

“No,” Dean answered, suddenly aware of a bone-deep exhaustion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus. He knew John was innocent. 

“May we continue our questioning?” Lavigne asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, “I guess. You want coffee?” 

  
  


After the detectives left, their questioning session not entirely successful, Dean sat quietly on the sofa next to his father. 

“Do you realize how serious this is, Dad?” He asked, his voice strained, the line of his shoulders rigid with tension. 

“I didn’t do anything,” John slurred, his eyes half closed. 

“I know, but this is a bad situation,” Dean replied, “We’ll talk about it in the morning. You need to sober up.” 

Dean stood, and moved to pull the bottle of bourbon from his father’s grasp. 

“S’mine,” John said insistently as spittle dribbled down his chin.

“No, you’re done for the night,” Dean said, wrestling the whiskey out of his father’s clumsy hands. 

“Goddamnit,” John growled. He rose slowly from his seat, and stumbled over the coffee table, “You queers don’t know how to drink properly.” 

Dean walked into the kitchen, doing his best to ignore his father’s jab. John said all sorts of nasty shit when he wanted a drink but couldn’t have one. Dean had the cap off the bottle and was pouring the contents down the drain when John made it into the kitchen. 

“You little bitch,” John said, his tone venomous. 

Dean ignored him, shaking the bottle empty. John shuffled over to the sink, leaning heavily on the counter top. 

“You mad I called you a queer?” He mumbled, his eyes sliding in and out of focus, “Can’t say fag, can’t say queer. What am I meant to call your type, huh? Your mother was better at this stuff...” 

Dean gripped his fingers around the bottle, breathing deep. 

“Dad, I’m confiscating your booze because you’re going to drink yourself into liver failure. Not because I like men sometimes,” He said, voice cracking slightly as he watched the last of the bourbon swirl lazily into the drain. 

John grunted in response, his attention already on to where he could get his next drink. 

“G’Night,” Dean said shortly, leaving the empty bottle on the counter as he headed upstairs.

He sat on his bed for a long time, elbows resting on his knees. John was right, his mother had been better at all of this. She’d made it safe for him to come out, drove him to the movies for his first date with a boy on the football team. He’d been lucky, back then. 

  
  


He doesn’t see Sam until that weekend, out at some breakfast smoothie cafe. 

“What the fuck is this place?” He asked, less than impressed. 

“Shut up,” Sam said, passing him a menu. 

“You know how weirdly attached he is to his juice, Dean,” Bela said, “Indulge him.” 

Dean grumbled, looking through the list of drinks. He decided on a cold brew coffee and pushed the menu back towards Sam. 

“Keep it,” He said, slightly disgusted, “Does this place have any food?” 

“You just had the menu, Dean,” Sam said, only half paying attention. 

“I mean real food,” Dean replied, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. 

“What are you getting, Bel?” Sam said to Bela, choosing to ignore Dean. 

“Cold brew coffee,” She replied. 

“Hah, me too,” Dean said with triumph, “This is a sucky breakfast place.” 

“You had coffee last time,” Sam implored quietly, “You said that next time we came you’d—” 

“Alright, alright,” Bela said, picking up the menu again. 

She eventually settled on a Cocoa and Banana protein shake, and Sam smiles proudly. 

“Look,” Dean said, “I don’t mean to be a downer but I need to talk to you about something.” 

“What is it?” Sam said, his brow creasing. 

“Tuesday night I got home to find some cops at the house, questioning dad about that missing girl.” Dean answered, his voice low. 

“What?” Sam replied, “That’s ridiculous. What do they think he had to do with it?” 

“Just that he fits the description of the last person she was seen with,” Dean said, absent-mindedly shredding a napkin.

“Well, that kinda makes sense,” Sam said, shrugging, “I know it sucks, but this is just regular procedural stuff, they’re just checking through potential suspects. He’ll be fine.” 

“It’s garbage! He wasn’t even in town then.” 

“Yeah, he says he wasn’t in town,” Sam said, sighing tiredly. 

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Dean grumbled.

“I’m just saying, we never really know where he is if he’s not passed out on the couch,” Sam replied with a shrug. 

“Okay, but does that mean he’d go and kidnap some girl off the street? He’s not like that, he wouldn’t do that,” Dean argued, still trying to keep his voice low. 

“It’s never the ones you’d expect,” Bela said, her eyes closed off as she stared at Dean. 

“This is my dad we’re talking about. I know my dad,” Dean said emphatically.

“Yes, I knew my father too,” She said, her tone cold but steady. The only thing that gave her away was the white of her knuckles clenched tightly around her phone. 

“Okay,” Sam said, “Let’s shelve this for now.” 

Dean sighed, watching the waitress approach. Sam had his arm around Bela, holding her close. Dean could hear the smooth hum of his voice, muttering a string of soothing placations. 

“Sorry,” Dean said, pulling his coffee towards him. 

“It’s fine,” Bela replied, chin resting in her hand as she looks out the window. 

Sam spent the rest of breakfast talking about his cases, but Dean wasn’t really listening. He was so certain that John had nothing to do with that girl. 

“Dean,” Sam said, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Where’d Bela go?” He asked, noticing her empty chair. 

“Bathroom,” Sam said, “Look, I agree with you. I don’t think Dad did anything. This is just routine. But if those cops come to the house again, call me immediately.” 

Dean nodded and drained the last bit of coffee from his mug. 

“It’ll be fine, Dean. We’ll take care of this,” Sam said, standing up and putting his jacket on. 

“I know,” Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his mouth, “And I’m sorry about Bela, I didn’t mean—,” 

“It’s fine,” Sam said, “She’ll be okay.” 

“Alright,” Dean replied, “I’m going to send her flowers on Monday though.” 

“She likes peonies,” Sam laughed, walking off to the register to pay. 

“Of course she does,” Dean said, mostly to himself. 

  
  


Dean drove to The Depot, only half paying attention to the road. He had known Bela for years, and she’d known their father for years. She had a strained, stilted relationship with the idea of family, but Dean hoped she knew that she was always welcome in theirs. 

He pulled into the underground parking by The Depot, and climbed the stairs to the shop. He was annoyed at having to work on a Saturday, but Kevin had study group or something, so Dean was covering for him until lunch

He sighed, tying on his apron. 

“Hey Ellen,” He called into the back room. 

“Heya hun!” She called back, “Thanks again for today!” 

“No problem,” He replied. 

The store wasn’t as busy as it was on weekdays, and Ellen was doing paperwork, so Dean was left alone in the storefront. He tried to look busy by doing some extra cleaning, but Kevin was a stickler and kept the place spotless. 

He made it until the last fifteen minutes of his shift before he pulled out his phone, standing behind the coffee machine to hide that he was scrolling through the news, catching up on the details of the Lacey Gibson case. 

Lacey had last been seen on the evening of the twenty-eighth of February, as Detective Lavigne had indicated. That day had been a Sunday, and she’d been at her friend’s house, doing homework that was due the next day. She’d walked home alone. They had security footage of her getting out of (and back into) a truck at a gas station on the outskirts of town, heading west. She was with an unknown man. 

Dean’s stomach felt unsettled. There were still images from the security footage, and the blurry image of the guy with Lacey did look a lot like John. 

“Hello?” 

“Oh,” Dean said, putting his phone in his pocket, “Hey, what can I get you?” 

He looked up, into the face of Richard Roman. 

“It’s you,” Roman said. 

“Yes,” Dean said, “How are you, Mr. Roman? Is your cable working?” 

“It’s working,” Roman said, his eyes guarded, “But my partner’s missing one of his pillows. It’s a special one, filled with goose down.” 

“That sucks,” Dean said, frowning a little. 

“You didn’t take it, did you?” Roman asked, the corners of his mouth turned down, “I told you not to touch anything. I guess it doesn’t matter, I’ll buy him another.”

“No,” Dean said, mostly shocked and a little bit affronted, “Maybe your partner just hasn’t unpacked it yet.” 

“Hmm, Maybe.” Roman said, checking his phone. 

“I didn’t take—,” Dean said, his voice dying in his throat as the automatic doors slid open behind Roman. 

“Can I get a latte please? And an Americano,” Dick said, paying Dean no notice. 

Dean didn’t really hear him, his heart beating so fast he thought he would throw up. 

God. There he was. Older now, but still disarmingly handsome. The same energy, the same posture. The same Cas that Dean used to know, used to love. 

“Hey ,” He said, and his voice was deeper than Dean remembered. 

Roman turned around then, smiling at Cas. Cas hadn’t seen Dean yet. 

“Hey,” Roman said, “I ordered you a latte.” 

“Thank you,” Cas said, resting a hand at the small of Roman’s back. 

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was about to fall over. It seemed to happen in slow motion - Castiel’s eyes swept from Roman, and then widened as they recognized him. 

“Dean...” He said, withdrawing his hand from Roman’s waist. 

Dean managed to swallow, steadying himself on the counter. 

“Sweetheart, this is the guy who fixed our cable,” Roman said, pulling a twenty from his wallet, dropping it on the counter. 

Dean’s brain stalled, and he couldn’t think, he couldn’t think. 

“Richard,” Cas said, “This is Dean Winchester.” 

“Oh,” Roman said slowly, the connection dawning on him, “This is the famous Dean Winchester?” He gestured towards Dean. 

He smiled, and he looked like a shark. Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. He was sweating. He was missing something here, what was he missing? 

“Well then,” Roman said with a laugh, “The pillow thing makes sense now.”

“Richard,” Cas said as he frowned, nudging Roman, his tone disapproving. 

Dean blushed, the words clawing their way into his ears. Oh. Of course Roman would know, if he was with Cas. Is that what was happening? 

“I didn’t—” He started to say, but it was nagging at him, came spilling out of his mouth before he could stop it, “This is your partner? _This_ guy?” he asked Roman.

“Yes,” Roman said, his slimy smile getting even wider, “Been together, what, four years now? What can I say—,”

“Sorry I’m late!” 

It was Kevin, rushing through the door. 

“Sorry Dean,” He said, tying his apron around his waist, “Things ran over.” 

“S’okay,” Dean said, looking at Kevin without really seeing him, “Latte and an Americano.” 

He brushed past Kevin, grabbing his keys from the shelf behind the counter, tossing his apron in the direction of the back room. 

“Dean,” He heard Cas say, but he kept walking. If he stopped he might fall over and he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t embarrass himself even more. 

He stumbled the last steps to the car, unlocking the door and falling into the seat, taking deep breaths. God, Maple and Lance, Sam had said Maple and Lance. He was stupid, he was so  _ stupid _ . 

Dean closed his eyes and counted to a hundred, then back down to one. By the time he was finished, he had everything compartmentalized, shoved into little boxes that he wasn’t going to think about until much later, if ever. He turned the engine on and got the fuck out of there. 

  
  


John was on the couch again, when he got home. Dean dropped down beside him and grabbed the bourbon from the table. 

“Don’t take that,” John said, reaching towards Dean sluggishly. 

Dean took a long, hard pull from the bottle, and handed it back. 

John looked at him, just for a second, before taking a sip himself. They sat there for a few hours, working their way down the bottle. John didn’t ask him a damn thing, and for once, Dean was grateful that his father understood the need to drown your sorrows. 

The sun was long gone by the time Dean was pulled from his stupor by the ring of his phone coming from his pocket. 

“What?” He said, putting the phone to his ear. 

_ “Dean? Are you there?” _

“Charlie, hey.” 

“ _ You sound drunk.”  _

“Well I’m not.” Dean said, pulling himself up off the sofa to wander into the kitchen. 

_ “What’s going on? Ellen said that you left in a real hurry. She said that Kevin was worried because you looked like you were about to pass out. Or punch someone.”  _

“I’m fine, I just... Ran into an old friend,” Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping off the cap as he spoke. 

“ _ Oh. Dean, are you okay?”  _ Charlie asked. 

“Yeah, I’m really drunk,” Dean replied, taking his beer up the stairs to his room. 

“ _ Okay, I’m gonna come over.”  _

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

“ _ Are you sure?”  _

“Yep.” 

“ _ Okay. We’re still on for tomorrow right? I miss making you play Elder Scrolls with me,”  _ Charlie asked. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there by eleven.” 

“ _ Cool. Love you.”  _

_ “ _ Bye, Red.”

He hung up the phone as he entered his bedroom, the walls spinning a little as he shuffled through the door. 

After his mother died, he had moved from his childhood bedroom into the spare room. The double bed was comfortable, and the walls were devoid of old race car stickers. He could stay in the house and look after his father, but this room felt fresh and new. The only memories he had in here from  _ before _ were making the bed with Sam, getting ready for guests over the holidays. 

This room was clean of sorrow, as his mother had never tucked him in here. Had never brought in a stack of his laundry, or asked him fondly to pick up after himself. Had never sat with him while he cried. 

This room was free of memories of John, grouchy but mostly sober, coming in to see if he was ready for the drive to school. To teach him how to make a proper fist. To gift him the first and only set of car keys he would ever need. 

This room, blessedly, had no trace of Castiel, staying over on late nights after the studying had gone on too long, pressed up against Dean on the small single bed as he slept, unaware that Dean was inches away and wanting so badly to touch him, with fingers and with lips. His hands desperate to feel along that toned back, to sweep across those broad shoulders. 

The spare room had none of those things, and he was grateful for it. 

He put his half empty beer on the night stand and lay down, one arm slung over his eyes to hide himself. This was why he shouldn’t drink to excess, he remembered. He got reminiscent, and then he got sad. 

He kicked his shoes off, feet heavy, and buried his face in his pillow as sleep claimed him. 

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 11/20/2008 _

_ Dean, _

_ I know you’re still mad at me but I just wanted to let you know I won’t be in town for Thanksgiving after all. Meg and I have decided to just stay here and enjoy what little sunshine is left before winter really sets in. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 12/02/2008 _

_ Please call me back. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 12/25/2008 _

_ Merry Christmas, Dean. I’ll always be here, whenever you’re ready to speak to me again. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 01/09/2009 _

_ Are you still mad at me? _

_ I hope you had a good new year. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 01/24/2009 _

_ Happy Birthday! _

_ I hope you got the card from Meg and me. I wasn’t sure if it was inappropriate, considering you still won’t answer me. I hope you have a good day, and may your 26 _ _ th _ _ year be a great one. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 04/08/2009 _

_ Dean, I’m so sorry. _

_ I’ve asked Sam when the funeral is, I want to be there for you and your family. Especially you.  _

_ You’re my best friend, and not speaking with you has been awful. Please just call if you need me. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 04/17/2009 _

_ Hi Dean, _

_ Your phone isn’t ringing anymore. Did you unplug it? Sam isn’t answering either.  _

_ I’m sorry for being pushy at Thanksgiving. I just want what’s best for you and I know you’re far too hard on yourself. I’ll respect your boundaries, I promise. I’m just worried about you, and I need to know you’re being taken care of.  _

_ Please, please call me. I heard the service was beautiful. I hope you got my flowers. _

_ I’m thinking of you often. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 05/12/2009 _

_ Hi Dean, _

_ I won’t be home this summer. You obviously need time to grieve, and I don’t want to add stress to that. Meg and I are going to pick apples in SoCal. _

_ I really miss you. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  
  


Dean woke up the next morning, feeling tired and dry. It was already ten o’clock, and he knew he’d be late to Charlie’s anyway, so he took his time in the shower, trying to rehydrate. He’d done worse things to cure a hangover than drinking warm shower water. 

The drive to Charlie’s was bearable only because of the cheap, old aviators he found in the glove box, which did their best to darken the sun. 

“Wow, you look like a bag of smashed assholes,” Charlie said, greeting him at the front door. 

“Thanks,” Dean replied, following her into her house. 

“Sorry dude. You need an aspirin or something?” 

“I need a dozen aspirin,” Dean grumbled, plopping down on Charlie’s couch. She had two computers set up in her living room, her own at the desk and a spare on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

Charlie placed a glass of water next to him with a pill bottle, and went to log in to the Elder Scrolls server. 

“I’ve got some friends out east who are joining us for dungeons in an hour or so,” She said. 

“Cool, you wanna just level stuff up until then?” Dean asked, entering the player menu. 

“Sure,” Charlie replied, “But also I want to hear about what happened with Cas.” 

Dean said nothing, watching the screen in front of him load. 

“Dean, come on.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Not even a little? Ellen and Kev couldn’t tell me what happened. I’m worried about you.” 

Dean sighed, leaning back against the couch. 

“Cas came into The Depot. Didn’t know I worked there.” He said, rubbing at his eyes. 

“So you ran out?” Charlie asked, looking at him from her desk. 

“Well, I left after I saw that he was there to meet up with his boyfriend, who accused me of stealing from his house.” 

“Accused you of— Wait, his  _ boyfriend? _ What?” Charlie said, her brow creasing, “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that Castiel is dating a man. And that I fixed the cable at their house because I’m an idiot.” 

“Dating a man? But he said to you—,”

“I know what he said to me, thanks,” Dean said sharply. 

“No, I mean. Maybe he, you know, learned about himself while away at college?” Charlie offered, hesitant. 

“Maybe. He could have just said he wasn’t attracted to me in the first place, and then I wouldn’t have—,” Dean cut himself off, jaw tensing. He didn’t talk about that second time, at the lake. He didn’t talk about it ever. 

“I don’t want to talk about it Charlie,” He sighed, “I just want to play Elder Scrolls and kick some Aldmeri Dominion ass, okay?” 

“Sure,” She said, “I’m in Rivenspire, up at the top of the map.” 

“Okay, I’ll send a group invite,” Dean replied, focusing on his screen. 

“Dean, you’re gonna be okay,” Charlie said, her voice sincere. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, offering her a small smile, before turning back to the game, “Now let's crush some snooty elves.”

“Attaboy,” Charlie said. 

  
  
  


It was the second to last day in April when John was taken in for questioning. Dean had been at the house that evening, cleaning up after one of John’s benders. A knock on the door was followed by Andrews and Lavigne entering his house and asking John to go with them. 

“Where are you taking him?” Dean asked.

“Local station. We just need to take some prints, ask a few questions.” Andrews told him. 

“Why? What’s changed?” 

Dean followed them to the station. He had eyes on his father through the windscreen, slumped over in the back seat of the squad car. His stomach was churning, and Sam wasn’t picking up his phone.

He waited in the lobby while John was taken to an interrogation room. He spent a long time just sitting there and waiting, staring at his phone. It was dead, because he didn’t think he’d need to charge it at ten o’clock on a Friday when his only plans were to lay in bed and feel sorry for himself. He hoped Sam got the voicemail messages he left. 

Dean was hunched over in his chair, and it was just after midnight before he felt the chair next to him move with the weight of someone sitting down. 

“Here,” Victor said, passing over a styrofoam cup of hot instant coffee, as well as a phone charger.

“Thanks,” Dean said, taking a sip. It tasted like shit, but it would keep him conscious. 

“Listen, this situation isn’t good. But they have nothing on him.” Victor said, keeping his voice low and leaning in to Dean’s space. 

“He didn’t do anything,” Dean whispered, “He had nothing to do with that girl, I promise you.” 

“I know,” Victor replied, just as quiet, “But they have to cover all their bases. You understand that right?” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, sitting up straighter, “The kid’s missing and they need to find her. I just feel bad that they’re wasting time on my Dad.” 

“Well, it’s not a waste of time to Lacey’s parents,” Victor said, shrugging. He stood up, “I gotta get back to it. You okay?” 

“M’fine,” Dean said, “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Anytime,” Victor said, walking back towards the inner depths of the precinct. 

Dean moved to sit on the floor next to the nearest power outlet. He plugged in his phone and drank his coffee, quiet and sullen. 

It took a few minutes to boot up, considering his phone was an old peice of shit, but when he got to the home screen, it said nothing about any missed calls or messages. 

Dean sighed, wrung-out and annoyed, before he dialed Sam’s number. It went to voicemail, so he dialed it again right away. He was on his fifth call before the phone picked up, and he heard Sam, out of breath, on the other end of the line. 

“ _ What? _ ” Sam said, panting a little. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Dean hissed, trying to keep his anger quiet. 

_ “It’s date night, where the fuck do you think I’ve been? What do you want?” _

“Okay, gross, didn’t need to know. I’m at the police station, the main one. They brought Dad in for questioning. No charges that I know of. Yet.” 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Sam said, “ _ Fuck, okay. I’ll be right there.” _

“Take your time,” Dean said drily, before hanging up his phone. 

It was another forty minutes before Sam pushed through the door, tall and imposing, wearing one of his work suits. 

“How long have you been here?” He asked, walking up to Dean. 

“Not sure, when did I first call you?” Dean replied, still sitting on the floor with his phone plugged in. 

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Sam said, “You know Bela. No phone rule and all.” 

“Okay but you telling me to call you if something like this happens, and then not answering the phone when I call you to let you know it is. It’s kind of, you know, fucking annoying,” Dean said, frowning up at his brother. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m here now. Let me go find out what’s going on,” Sam said, striding off down the hallway. 

Dean stayed where he was, clutching the empty coffee cup. 

He was most of the way through a sudoku puzzle on his phone when he heard loud footsteps, the cadence all wrong, slower than anything he’d heard in the busy corridor of the police station. 

“Well, who do we have here?” Dean heard, and he rolled his eyes, not needing to look up to know that Dick Roman was above him. 

“Hello Mr. Roman,” He said, moving to get up off the floor. 

“Hey there.” Roman said, smoothing a hand down the front of his expensive looking suit. It was darker than Sam’s, and more fitted. 

God, the man was so greasy. Dean wondered what Cas saw in him. 

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked. 

“Just looking up some old files,” Roman said, waving a thick manila folder, his smile spreading wide across his face. 

“Cool.” Dean said. 

“Oh, also, my partner — you met him — he found his pillow, so you’re off the hook.” 

“Great,” Dean said, his voice flat. 

“Well anyway,” Roman said, his grin predatory, “He’s at home keeping the bed warm for me, so I’d better go. Hope your dad’s not in any trouble.” 

He walked off without waiting for a response, and Dean was left standing alone in the hallway, about ready to hit someone. Of course Roman had to come across him while he was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, like some snot-nose kid. 

He got it, he supposed. Roman was tall, and conventionally handsome. Successful. Rich, if his house was anything to go by. Charming, if he managed to snag Cas. 

Dean unplugged his phone and sat down in the same chair as before. That was the difference. He was in ratty jeans and a worn sweatshirt, sitting on the grimy linoleum floor of a police station at one o’clock in the morning, waiting to take his drunk of a father back to his childhood home. 

Dick Roman had a career, a nice suit, a nice haircut, and was on his way home to his significant other, in the grown up house they shared together. 

Cas must have known Dean would end up like this, and he’d made the right call rejecting him—rejecting him _ twice _ . Dean blushed at the memory of it. The embarrassment felt worse, more fresh somehow, now that he knows Cas pretended to be straight just to get away from him. That Cas saw his mess of a family and his empty bank account and wanted no part of it. Wanted someone who looked masculine, like Roman. Wanted someone smarter, worthy of Cas and his doctorate. 

Dean felt sick, like the milk from the coffee was curdling in his stomach. His throat felt tight, but he wasn’t going to cry in a damn police station just because Dick Roman was mean to him. He knew by now that good things happened to good people, that he had no one to blame but himself. 

He set his jaw and waited. 

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ From: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ 07/28/2009 _

_ I’ve only just seen these. I don’t use this account anymore. _

_ I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you about the funeral, my mom would have wanted you there. I got the flowers, they were nice. Thanks.  _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 07/28/2009 _

_ I’m so glad to hear from you. _

_ I’m sorry you had to go through that alone. And it means a lot to me that you would say that, I wanted to be there too. _

_ What’s your new email address? _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 08/06/2009 _

_ Hi Dean, _

_ How are you? I hope you’ve had a good summer. Meg and I have just come back from apple picking, we had a wonderful time. _

_ I’d like to call you soon, I miss talking to you. _

_ What’s your new email address? _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 08/22/2009 _

_ Hi Dean, _

_ Are you still mad at me? I never got your new address. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 09/20/2009 _

_ Hi Dean, _

_ I’m back at school now. The leaves are turning brown earlier than last year. Meg and I broke up. _

_ Please call me, or tell me your new address. _

_ Love, _

_ Cas. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

__

_ To: DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ From: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ 11/26/2009 _

_ Happy Thanksgiving Dean. _

_ I miss you. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

_ To: Castiel.Novak@gmail.com _

_ From: Mail Delivery Subsystem (mailer-daemon@googlemail.com) _

_ 11/26/2009 _

_ Delivery Status Notification Failure _

_ Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently: _

__ __ _ DeanW6769@gmail.com _

_ Technical details of permanent failure: _

_ Google tried to deliver your message, but it was rejected by the recipient domain. We recommend contacting the other email provider for further information about the cause of this error. The error that the other server returned was:  _ __ **_The email account you tried to reach does not exist._ **

__ __ _ Please try: _

__ __ _ Double-checking the recipient’s email address for typos or unnecessary spaces. _

_ Learn more at _ [ _https://support.google.com/mail/answer/6596_](https://support.google.com/mail/answer/6596)

_ \--- Original Message --- _

_ Happy Thanksgiving Dean. _

_ I miss you. _

_ ____________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  


It hadn’t been so bad, in the end. They’d let John go at around eight the next morning, after waiting for him to sober up. Dean had slept in the chair in the hallway, and Sam had bothered everyone he could get his hands on. Dean had called out sick, opting to stay home and make sure John didn’t do anything stupid. 

  
  


Wednesday evening had Dean closing up at the Depot. He was clearing empty coffee cups when he saw the newspaper from earlier that day. Someone had left it on the table for him to deal with, although Dean was surprised that anyone still read the damn things. He finished tidying the store and took the paper with him to his car. If his father was going to be involved in this unpleasant business, Dean figured it was best that he knew as much as he could.

He sat in his car, the overhead light on so that he could see. Staring up at him from the front page was the headline,  _ ‘Lacey Gibson Suspect Has Violent Past’.  _ Dean shook the paper open to read the article. His own name, Winchester, caught his eye, and then he realized what he was looking at. He checked the author of the article, and there it was. 

Richard Roman. 

__ _ “Late on Friday night, April 29, potential suspect John Winchester was taken in for questioning at the Lawrence Police Department. John Winchester matches the description of the man last seen with Lacey Gibson (presumed dead), and he currently has no alibi for the night of the February 28 or March 1.  _

__ _ Mr. Winchester has a long history of violent outbursts. His county record shows three instances of aggravated assault, seven different car accidents, four DUIs, and numerous counts of public intoxication, all in the last ten years.  _

__ _ He was also taken in for questioning on the 5th of April 2009, the night his wife, Mary Winchester, allegedly ‘fell’ down the stairs of their Lawrence home. There was a short investigation, but it was deemed a ‘fatal accident’ at the time.  _

_ A history of alcoholism and violence certainly don’t help Mr. Winchester’s case in the search for Lacey Gibson’s murderer—” _

So that’s why Roman had been at the police station. Digging up dirt on John. 

Before he knew it, he was on the road, cutting through what remained of rush hour traffic. He parked on the curb outside the house on the corner of Maple and Lance, and stormed up to the door, newspaper in hand. 

He knocked on the door, hammering until he heard someone turn the lock. 

“Dean?” Cas said, the sleeves of his white button down rolled to his elbows. 

“Where is he?” Dean said, his jaw clenched and a vein ticking in his forehead. He couldn't look directly at Cas, so he looked over his shoulder.

“Who, Richard?” Cas asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Yeah,  _ Richard, _ ” Dean sneered, pushing his way inside. 

“He's upstairs, in his office. What's going on?” Cas said, closing the door before following him into the house. 

“Hey asshole!” Dean shouted up the stairs. 

He shoved the newspaper at Cas, breathing deep to keep himself calm. 

“Read it,” he spat out, “Read that garbage your ‘boyfriend’ wrote about my mother.”

“Dean—” Cas said, taking the paper from him. 

Dean watched, fists clenched, as Roman descended the stairs, his posture like a king in his castle. 

“What can I do for you, Dean?” Roman asked, a small smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, as he stood on the bottom step.

“What the fuck is this?” Dean snarled, pointing to the paper in Castiel's hands.

“It's a newspaper,” Roman said, his smile still wide across his face, “Surely you've read one before?” 

“Richard,” Cas said, sounding displeased. 

“No, you fuckass, you wrote in your article that my father is a violent alcoholic who pushed my mom down the stairs,” Dean said, pointing an accusing finger at Roman, raising his voice to a shout, “And that the ‘chances are high he's kidnapped Lacey Gibson’.” 

Cas stepped forward, looking at Dean with wide eyes. 

“Dean, he wouldn't—, Richard wouldn’t do that. Maybe you misinterpreted the—” 

Dean rounded on Cas.

“I get that I'm a dumb piece of shit, but I can actually read, thank you.” 

“Dean, that's not what I me—,”

“My brother and I will be in touch with you,” Dean said, pointing at Roman again before stalking back out of the house, wrenching the front door open. 

“Dean!” Cas called after him, following him to his car, “Dean, please.”

Dean took out his car keys, unlocking the door. 

“Can we talk?” Cas asked, standing on the curb in his socks, the car between them, “Will you please talk to me?”

Dean looked at him, across the roof of the car. Their gaze held and Dean could see that Cas was upset. 

Well, that wasn't his problem. 

“No,” He said, stepping into his car and slamming the door. 

He could see Cas in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. 

He was still there when Dean turned the corner at the end of the street. 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  
Dean got four days. Four days of wallowing in his own heartbreak and resentment before Cas came looking for him.  
  
First he tried to phone Dean at Jo’s business. Dean hung up on him all three times he called. Then he heard from Kevin that Cas had come into The Depot looking for him, which Dean thought was unfair because not only did it make him upset and angry, but it put his imagination into overdrive, that Cas was coming to whisk him off his feet and take him away. Dean was lying awake at night, letting himself have five minutes to himself where he could pretend that Cas wanted him, had been waiting for him.  
  
Usually this only made him more upset and angry, but he couldn’t help himself. There in the dead of night, he let himself revel in what a perfect world might look like.    
  
The next morning, he got a call from Ellen, asking him to come in to sort out an inventory problem. Dean sighed; it was meant to be his day off. He had planned to spend it in his pajamas, on the couch, watching _Dirty Dancing_ on repeat until he didn’t feel so sad. Not that anyone would ever know about that.  
  
The Depot wasn’t too busy when he got there—Mondays usually were pretty slow, especially just before the lunch rush.  
  
“Ellen?” He called, walking through the front door.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
It came from behind him, and it wasn’t Ellen’s voice. He turned around, his heart clenching.  
  
“Hi,” Cas said, sitting at one of the tables along the wall, a half empty latte in front of him.  
  
Dean stared at him, unable to move his mouth for a second. He had a horrifying thought that Cas had found out what he’d been thinking at night, and had come to confront him. No, that was stupid.  
  
“Cas... You can’t just come into my work,” He said weakly, feeling like he needed to sit down.  
  
Unless Cas was coming to sweep him off his feet? No, that was also stupid. Dean took a deep breath.  
  
“I know, I just—I really need to talk to you,” Cas said, and he sounded so earnest, how could Dean tell him no again?  
  
His resolve was entirely weakened and he swallowed, and then nodded.  
  
“I have, uh—I need to talk to Ellen first, about some stock. But we can talk after.” He said, looking at Cas’s table, instead of his face.  
  
“Okay,” Cas said, and he sounded so relieved. God, was Dean being an asshole?  
  
He shook his head a little, just to clear it.  
  
“Okay,” He said, “I’ll go and—,” He gestured over his shoulder, turning awkwardly to leave, narrowly avoiding a run-in with a chair.  
  
The stock problem took a little longer than he expected, because he wasn’t able to completely focus on it. Ellen was talking about cartons of milk delivered versus ordered and the paperwork had been scanned and the handwriting wasn’t clear, but either way they’d ended up with three times as many crates of almond milk than they needed.  
  
Dean called the delivery company, trying to sort out the problem. The phone was right in the doorway to the back of the shop, so Dean hovered, keeping an eye on Cas the whole time he was on the phone. He was nervous, Dean could tell. He was biting at his thumbnail, and fiddling with his now empty cup.  
  
Dean almost ended up ordering more milk by accident, just because most of his focus was elsewhere.  
  
“Thanks Dean,” Ellen said to him when it was all over.  
  
“No problem,” He replied, taking just a moment to still be on this side of a conversation that was bound to hurt.  
  
He kissed her on the cheek and went out to the shop front.  
  
“Hey,” He said, getting Castiel’s attention.  
  
“Hi,” Cas said, looking up at him with wide eyes, “Do you want to sit...?”  
  
“I can’t do this here,” Dean said, burying his hands in his jean pockets, “Let’s go somewhere.”  
  
Cas nodded, gathering his things.  
  
They walked in silence, Dean leading the way. There was a small park a few blocks over, and late May was nice enough to be sitting outside.  
  
It felt so weird to be beside Cas again. His gait was different, more self-assured and confident. Dean had to force himself to stop thinking about it, or he’d go into this reminiscent and soft. He couldn’t do that to himself. Again.  
  
There was a small bench in the park, under the shade of a young oak tree, facing out towards the street. Dean could make a quick exit if he needed to.  
  
He braced himself, hands on the edge of the bench, on either side of his thighs. He couldn’t look at Cas, not yet.  
  
“So,” He said, “What did you need to talk to me about?”  
  
This was it. Things would be different after this. He could still run, he thought.  
  
“Dean, I—I’m so sorry, about what Richard did,” Cas said, turning towards him, his voice imploring, “I didn’t know that he’d write that angle on it. I was shocked.”  
  
Dean shrugged, studying the tufts of grass under his feet.  
  
“If I ever thought that he would write an article about you or your family, I wouldn’t have told him anything, especially about Mary. You know how much she meant to me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, his throat feeling scratchy.  
  
“I just wanted to apologize, and assure you I’m on top of it. Richard won’t write about John again, I promise.”  
  
“What if he did it?” Dean asks bluntly.  
  
Cas pauses, and Dean can feels eyes studying him.  
  
“I don’t think he did,” Cas said softly.  
  
Dean nodded, leaning back against the seat.  
  
“And Richard?” He said, finally looking over at Cas. God, he was so handsome.  
  
“Dean, I’m serious, he won’t write about John’s involvement in this case again.” Cas said, his face so earnest.  
  
Dean looked at him for a moment, holding his gaze.  
  
“That’s not what I was asking,” He said, his voice quiet.  
  
Cas blinked, and then broke the eye contact, looking out across the park. Dean took the opportunity to study his face, his profile. Catalogue every new line he found around Cas’s eyes.  
  
“I don’t know what to say,” Cas said, his voice just as soft as Dean’s. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking, “When we last spoke—face to face—I believed what I said, believed it to be true. I thought I knew myself,” Another heavy pause, “I was wrong.”  
  
Dean nodded, unable to say anything, his arms crossed tightly, as though that would help keep his heart in his chest.  
  
“I just. Sacramento was so different. I was so far away from everyone I’d ever known. And we’d go down to San Francisco on the weekends and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I dated around, and I kissed girls, and I kissed boys and it felt nice. And then I met Richard and he was so charming and smart and handsome and funny, and he liked me, and he let me be myself, and explore myself and my own sexuality and—”  
  
“Alright,” Dean said, cutting him off, “I don’t need to hear this.”  
  
“No, I suppose not. But, Dean... Please don’t think this reflects on you as a person. You’re a good man.”  
  
And fuck if that didn’t make Dean feel sick to his stomach.  
  
“Don’t tell me that any of what went on wasn’t about me, because it was. I said to you—I told you—,” and he chokes on the words, fists clenching, “It was as personal as a situation could get, and I reserve the right to take it personally. Don’t you take that away from me.”  
  
“Okay,” Cas said, voice still soft, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean echoed, an agreement, a truce. “I gotta go,” He said, and he felt raw.  
  
He stood, unfolding his arms, and strode out of the park. Cas stayed behind, as silent as he had been the last time they’d been this honest with one another.  
  
  
By the time Dean got home, he was beyond ready for _Dirty Dancing_. He pushed the front door open, shoulders sagging with the weight of information that he didn’t want to know. Apparently all it took was a trip to San Francisco and Cas could have been his.  
  
No, that’s not what he’d said. Roman was charming and smart and funny and handsome, all things Dean wasn’t. Cas clearly didn’t want a dumb boy with a pretty twink’s face, and Dean would have to accept it, that that was that, and no amount of distance, or eye-opening weekends would have shifted things in his favor.  
  
He kicked off his shoes in the entryway, a bit more aggressively than was necessary, but no one even cared about this shit hole of a house anymore anyway.  
  
John was on the sofa, drunk again.  
  
“Hey dad,” Dean said, sinking down next to him, switching on the TV. With any luck, John would pass out and Dean could watch _Dirty Dancing_ and not cry in peace.  
  
“Dean...” John said, slurring the words, “S’empty.”  
  
“That sucks,” Dean said, looking at the bottle in his father’s hands. Maybe if he filled it with apple juice, John would just pass right out.  
  
He took the empty whiskey bottle from his father and went into the kitchen, finding a nearly expired carton of green apple juice at the back of the fridge. He poured a few fingers into the bottle and took it back to the living room.  
  
“Here,” He said, pushing the apple juice back at his father. But John didn’t take it.  
  
“Dad?” He asked.  
  
John was fixated on the TV, the evening news bulletin playing without sound. Lacey Gibson’s face was splashed across the screen, and the colour was draining from John’s face.  
  
Dean turned off the mute, and sat back to watch the news.  
  
    “—with this new evidence that’s been found, we can safely say that Lacey Gibson is alive, but still in the hands of her captor, an unknown caucasian male.”  
  
And there it was, new surveillance footage from outside a bank. She was clearly in the passenger seat of a beaten up old truck, which had apparently been reported as stolen. The guy who kidnapped her could be seen robbing someone at the ATM.  This was on the eighteenth of May.  
  
Dean swore to god that if he didn’t know for a fact that John had been home with him that evening, it could have been his father. The footage was grainy, but the height, the weight, the build—it was all eerily similar.    
  
“Dad, it's fine,” he said, turning to look at John, “You were with me, right here on the couch, okay? You have an alibi.”  
  
John nodded, still watching the news with a blank face. They sat there together, watching in silence as the breaking news was played over and over, the footage of the man who looked like John hitting Dean right in the gut everytime he saw it.  
  
It was long after dark by the time Dean switched the TV off, helping John up to his room. He had sobered up a lot since Dean got home, but he was still shaky on his feet.  
  
“Dean,” he said, standing in his bedroom doorway, looking resigned,  “I'm going to go to prison for this.”  
  
“No,” Dean said fiercely, “You're going to be fine. It'll be fine. You didn't do anything.”  
  
John nodded, and closed the door with a soft snap. Dean sighed and went to his own room.  
  
  
John was up and quietly making coffee when Dean left for work the next morning, shuffling around the kitchen in yesterday's jeans and a ratty sweatshirt.  
  
Dean didn't see his father that evening, or the following day, and by Thursday Dean was worried—his truck hadn’t been in the driveway since Tuesday morning.  
  
He tried calling Sam at around three, but the phone went to voicemail.  
  
“Sam, call me when you get this, I think Dad's gone,” was all he could bring himself to say, before he ended the call and tucked his phone back in his pocket.    
  
He didn’t really know what to do other than go home and wait, hoping that headlights, Sam’s or his father’s truck, would flash into the driveway.  
  
Sam returned his call eventually, at half past six, and said he was on his way.  
  
_“When did you see him last?”_ He asked.  
  
“Tuesday morning, in the kitchen. I got home that night and the truck was gone.”  
  
_“This isn’t good, Dean.”_  
  
“No shit,” Dean grumbled, sitting on the coffee table with his head in one hand.  
  
_“Okay, well... I’ll see you soon.”_ Sam said tiredly.  
  
“That’s all you’re going to say?” Dean said, feeling anger build in his chest.  
  
_“We’ll talk when I get there, okay?”_ Sam said, using his ‘calm down’ voice.  
  
“Whatever,” Dean replied, ending the call.  
  
He waited, feeling restless and not sure what to do with himself. By the time Sam had arrived and they started discussing options, Dean had worked himself into an angry panic.  
  
  
  
“Well what do you want to do?”  
  
“I don't know, Sam!” Dean threw up his hands, “We can't exactly file a missing person's report.”  
  
“That's true.” Sam said, resigned.  
  
“We should go look for him,” Dean said.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Okay fine, so we just leave it?”  
  
“No, but you need to stay here if he comes back.”  
  
“What if he doesn't come back because no one goes to find him?”  
  
“Okay, we can call Victor and ask him to put a BOLO on the truck. It's a different vehicle from the one Lacey Gibson was seen in, so it won't draw too much attention to the driver.”  
  
Dean paused, his brow furrowed.  
  
“You think he'd do that for us?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. You've been friends for years. Just ask him in person so there's no trace if things go sour.” Sam said.  
  
“Well that's reassuring, thank you.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
“Get outta here,” Dean said, pushing Sam towards the front door.  
  
“Okay,” Sam said, picking up his briefcase, “Just don't freak out, alright?”  
  
Dean grunted a response and waved goodbye to Sam.  
  
  
  
He saw Victor the following afternoon.  
  
“What can I do you for?” Victor asked, cutting to the chase over their beers.  
  
“Look, I don't know what to do, and if you need to, uh... 'inform’ someone about what I'm about to tell you, then that's okay and I understand,” Dean said, talking quietly, “but my dad's been out of town for a few days. He didn't leave a note or say anything about leaving. I'm worried about him.”  
  
“But you don't want to file a missing person's report,” Victor said, raising an eyebrow in thought.  
  
“Exactly. Especially after that thing in the paper, I just want—” Dean paused, unsure of himself, “I just want to make sure he's okay. He's real spooked by all this, and I'm worried he's gone and done something stupid.”  
  
Victor looked at him for a second, mulling it over.  
  
“While he's technically a suspect, he's also not on bail or anything. He wasn't told not to leave the state, which is why the new footage still kind of implicates him,” Victor said, gesturing with his beer bottle, “But I can put out a BOLO on his truck—he took his truck, right?”  
  
“Yeah, he took the truck,” Dean said with a sigh of relief, “Thank you so much Vic, honestly. And if you need to report it or something, I get it”.  
  
“Shouldn't be a problem,” Victor said, “I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”  
  
“Thanks man,” Dean said, feeling more at ease than he had all week.  
  
“No problem. I'd be real surprised if John was a kidnapping weirdo,” Victor said, “mostly because of the alcoholism, but also because you don’t think he did it, and I know you’ve got good judgement.”  
  
Dean grimaced, the thought not escaping him that his father's drinking might actually come in handy for once.  
  
  
  
It was dark when he got home from the bar, so he almost didn't notice it, sprayed across the garage door in day-glo orange writing.  
  
'Kid Killer’.  
  
Dean felt sick, his skin crawling. That was the problem with living in the same neighbourhood for your entire life. People knew where to find you.  
  
He parked the Impala in the garage, not wanting her to befall the same fate as the garage door. Then he got a bucket of soapy water, some turpentine and began scrubbing with an old rag.  
  
He didn't know what was worse. People thinking his father was capable of something like this, thought he was guilty enough that they felt justified in vandalizing his property. Or that people were happy to call him a murderer despite the recent proof that Lacey Gibson was alive.  
  
The entire time he was out there in the dark, he felt prickling on the back of his neck, every breeze making his stomach churn as he scrubbed the garage clean of accusations against his father.  
  
He didn't tell anyone what had happened, and continued to keep it to himself when the words returned the next day. He just washed the words away quietly and hoped they would catch the guilty party soon—before anyone actually died.  
  
It kept happening, the paint itself was getting thin in the center, and he'd have to get the whole door repainted just to make it look normal. He hoped John showed up soon.  
  
  
  
It was late on Saturday afternoon, and Dean felt a stone sink in his stomach as he pulled up outside the house, seeing the same words again, larger than ever.  
  
And then it turned to lead when he saw who was sitting on his door step.  
  
“You can't just came to my house, Cas,” Dean said, frowning.  
  
“I know, I just wanted—”  
  
“I don't care. Stop stalking me, okay? At my job, at my home, it's creepy.”  
  
“I'm sorry. I was worried for you,” Cas said, and he had his knees drawn up to his chest where he sat on the steps and it ate at Dean.  
  
“Do you want to come in?” Dean said, sighing.  
  
“Is that okay?” Cas said, still sitting.  
  
“Yeah, come on,” Dean said, unlocking the door.  
  
Cas followed him inside, toeing his shoes off in the doorway automatically like some kind of muscle memory. They went into the kitchen, and Dean grabbed two beers from the fridge, putting one down across from himself to indicate that Cas should join him at the table.  
  
“So, what do you want?” Dean asked bluntly, sliding him the bottle opener.  
   
Cas sighed, and popped the cap off his beer.  
  
“I saw the news,” Cas said, measured and slow, looking at his hands while Dean studied him, “And I wanted to check that you were okay. I feel—.”  
  
Cas cut himself off, but Dean decided to wait it out, not wanting to do him any favors. Let him struggle, he’d decided.  
  
“I think this is partially my fault,” he said, hand curling into a fist against the table top, “I should have made it clear to Dick that you and your family are off limits.”  
  
Dean took a sip from his beer, still watching Cas.  
  
“And I think I was right to worry. Look at your garage, Dean. How long has that been there?”  
  
“Probably only a couple hours, I cleaned it off last night. Doesn't take too long to pop up again,” Dean said, his voice steady. He’d decided to be as detached as possible from the interaction, and no amount of caring bullshit from Cas was going to change his mind.  
  
“Cleaned it, what do you—Dean, are you serious? How long has this been going on?” Cas asked, and he looked outraged, his brow wrinkled with concern. Dean ignored the flutter in his stomach.  
  
“A little over a week,” He said, now avoiding Cas's eye. He couldn't risk it.  
  
“Have you reported this?” Cad asked.  
  
“Nah. It's only a little paint,” Dean said.  
  
“For now,” Cas said, incredulous, “Dean, this isn't safe. You need to tell someone.”  
  
“Why, so your boyfriend can put it in the paper?” Dean sneered, “I don't want any copycats, thanks.”  
  
Cas just looked him, and Dean was fuming because how could he have the audacity to look hurt?  
  
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but I won’t apologize for being with someone else,” he said with a slight frown.  
  
Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
“I get that you're sorry Cas, I do, but it still sucks. And your boyfriend's an asshole. And he's your boyfriend,” Dean said, probably revealing more than was wise.  
  
“You still have a problem with me having a boyfriend?” Cas asked, squaring his shoulders, like he was getting ready for an argument.  
  
“No, I'm over the moon about it,” Dean said, giving him a pointed look, “I just—I know you, or at least I used to, and I just don't understand what you're doing with a guy like that.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Cas asked, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.  
  
“I mean exactly what I said. Look at what he wrote about my dad. My mom. He was rude to me when I fixed your cable, and then when he was in my store, he accused me of stealing from your house,” Dean said, rambling a little, “Maybe he respects you because you're a fancy doctor of whatever, but he treats me like shit because my collar’s blue, and that says enough about him to last me a lifetime.”  
  
Cas said nothing, fiddling with the neck of his beer bottle. He looked dejected, and suddenly Dean felt like an asshole.  
  
“Sorry man,” Dean said, feeling awkward. Of course he apologized. He used to be terrible at holding his ground where Cas was concerned, and apparently nothing had changed.  
  
“It's okay,” Cas said quietly, “He didn't used to be like this. Or maybe he did and I was just never paying attention. He really is very charming when he wants to be. I guess that includes me. I got swept off my feet,” he mused.  
  
Dean's chest clenched at the image. What had Roman done that Dean couldn’t that would have swept Cas off his feet? He supposed it didn’t matter now.  
  
“I don't need to hear this. I don't want to know about it,” He said, his voice steady while he felt anything but.  
  
Cas just looked at him, just for a moment.  They stared at each other and Dean couldn't cope with it, had to look away.  
  
“Still?” Cas said, his voice soft.  
  
“I don't know what you're askin’ me,” Dean replied, his voice gruff as he refused to meet Cas's eyes.  
  
“I mean does it—does this still hurt for you? It's been so long.” Cad said, sounding a little intrigued, a little disbelieving, which made Dean feel ill.  
  
“Honestly?” He said, swallowing. No, he decided, he couldn't do this. Not now.  
  
They lapsed into silence, Cas looking at him while he stared into space.  
  
“Dean?” Cas prompted, not letting him get away with avoiding the question.  
  
“I think you should go Cas,” Dean replied, clearing his throat, “Thanks for stopping by.”  
  
Cas looked like he was about to say something, but then he nodded, and Dean walked him to the front door. Cas stepped onto the porch and turned, so that there was barely a foot between them as Dean stood on the threshold.  
  
“I have missed you, Dean,” he said, quiet as anything, “So much. It really is good to see you.”  
  
Dean couldn't do much other than blink, nodding a little at those words. Cas smiled at him, small and sweet, and then turned to walk back to his car.  
  
Dean watched him go.  
  
  
On Tuesday, Dean received a blank postcard with a picture of the Manitoba Legislative Building in Winnipeg.  
  
So John had fled straight north to Canada, then. Dean sighed, slipping the postcard into a small paper bag in his closet, where he kept the rest of them, and then sent Victor a text.  
  
  
The first weekend in June, Dean had plans with Bela, which was odd in and of itself. She’d asked him to spend some ‘quality time’ with her, and Sam was absolutely giddy about it.  
  
“I’m so glad you guys are getting along!” He’d said when Dean called him, and he could practically hear the big, goofy grin on his brother’s face.  
  
He picked Bela up from her and Sam’s house, on the fancy side of town, four streets from Cas’s place. He didn’t look as he drove past the corner of Maple and Lance, just grit his teeth and kept his eyes on the road. If Bela noticed, she didn’t say anything.  
  
She looked good in the Impala, Dean decided. She was elegant and striking, and Dean glanced over at her, her profile so different to Sam’s. But she fit there, in the car, with him and his brother. Underneath her attitude, Dean knew she was kind, and that she loved Sam. That’s all he needed from her, really.  
  
She directed him to a cafe, a quaint place in a quiet suburb.  
  
“I know this isn’t your style, Dean, but I promise you the pie is delicious,” She said.  
  
Dean watched, mildly amused as Bela’s order of an Earl Grey tea, and a miniature victoria sponge arrived at their table.  
  
“You’re a walking stereotype sometimes,” He said, and she gestured accusingly to his large slice of apple pie and strong black coffee.  
  
“You’re one to talk,” She said, neatly crossing her legs beneath the table.  
  
“This pie is amazing though,” Dean said, stuffing his mouth full.  
  
Bela rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.  
  
“So what do you want to do on our date?” Dean said, leaning back in his chair.  
  
“I was thinking,” Bela said, inspecting her fingernails, “That we could go shopping.”  
  
“Of course,” Dean laughed a little, “What are you in the market for?”  
  
Bela took a second, seemingly to collect herself, before she finally looked up, making eye contact with Dean.  
  
“A ring,” She said, serious as anything.  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped a little.  
  
“What?” He said, sitting forward, staring at Bela, “You’re engaged? Sam asked you—Why didn’t he say anything to me?”  
  
Bela laughed, sounding a little nervous.  
  
“No,” She said, “He hasn’t asked me. I was thinking I would ask him.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Dean said, rolling his eyes a little as he smiled at her, “He would love that.”  
  
“Do you think so?” Bela asked him, as earnest as Dean had ever seen her.  
  
“Of course he will, he loves everything you do,” Dean said.  
  
Bela smiled back at him, seeming relieved.  
  
“Alright,” She said, “Then we should go to the jeweler’s.”  
  
  
  
“So,” Dean said, ambling through the store, “What kind of ring are you looking for?”  
  
“Probably a silver band,” Bela said, “Maybe gold.”  
  
“I think you should buy what you like most,” Dean said, peering into the glass cabinets filled with rings.  
  
“Gold it is,” Bela said, coming to a stop next to him.  
  
“Are you going to get one for yourself to match?” Dean asked, gesturing to the women’s rings in the next case over.  
  
“That feels presumptuous,” Bela said, frowning a little, “He hasn’t said ‘Yes’ yet.”  
  
“He will,” Dean said, a small smile on his face.  
  
“Do you think so?” Bela asked, her purse clutched in her hands.  
  
“I know so. Kid’s crazy about you,” Dean said, leaning on his elbow against the counter.  
  
“Has he said anything?” Bela asked, stepping in closer to Dean as she lowered her voice.  
  
“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” Dean said, grinning at her. Sam had been making vague comments about ‘forever’ and ‘the future’ for over a year at that point, but Dean figured Sam could tell her that himself.  
  
She shoved him lightly on the arm, before turning back to the rings.  
  
“What do you think, gold with a diamond?” Dean asked, watching Bela study the selection.  
  
“Well,” She said, “He went on that tirade about blood diamonds at Christmas so I was thinking maybe something plain. Or a different stone. And there’s white, yellow, or rose gold. Or sterling silver, I still can’t decide—”  
  
“Bela,” He interrupted, “Just pick something you like, okay? Because it’ll be in the family forever, and you don’t want a ring you hate in thirty years, because I promise you he will never take it off.”  
  
Suddenly, Bela was in his space, sliding her hands under his arms. They didn’t do this often, so Dean was surprised, but he hugged her back all the same, firm arms wrapping around her back.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here,” She said, muffled by his shirt.  
  
He pressed a kiss to her hair, and patted her shoulder.  
  
“Me too,” He said, “Now let’s find a nice ring.”  
  
It took them four hours, but they found it. A yellow gold band with three small insets—sunstones, which Bela was enamoured with. Dean figured his fingers were the same size as Sam's, so they used him to measure.  
  
This was good, he thought, a good thing to be happening. Dean felt happy, there in the shop with Bela, imagining his brother's face.  They found a match in the women's rings and Dean talked her into putting it on hold.  
  
“Trust me, you'll need it,” he told her.  
  
  
“So,” Bela said, the ring safely tucked away in a box in her purse, “While it's still just you and me, what's the situation with this Castiel person?”  
  
Dean was driving her home, with plans to stay for dinner. He sighed, weighing the options of telling her.  
  
“Okay,” He said, “But if any of this gets back to Sam, I’ll key your car.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Bela said, a small smile on her face.  
  
“So we knew each other in college, and I liked him—a lot, and I told him as much, and he explained he wasn’t interested in men, which was fine,” It wasn’t, not really, “And then we lost touch when he moved away for grad school.”  
  
“Right. And because you’re the master of playing things down, I’m going to assume it was all much more heartbreaking than you’ve made it sound,” Bela said, watching him closely.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but he didn’t correct her.  
  
“Anyways,” He said, “So now he’s moved back to town with his boyfriend, who is an asshole, and it’s all kinda weird.”  
  
“Hmm,” Bela said, “So you’re in love with this man, and he tells you he’s straight, and then ten years later he’s not?”  
  
“Pretty much. He said he discovered himself in San Francisco.”  
  
“Right,” Bela said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“I know,” Dean said, agreeing with the unspoken sentiment.  
  
“Well, you don’t need him anyway,” Bela said, “If his choice in boyfriends is anything to go by, he wasn’t worth your time then and he definitely isn’t now. We’ll find you your own Sam.”  
  
“Thanks, Bela,” Dean said.  
  
“I have a man at my office I could set you up with,” She said, “Rumour has it that he has a very large penis.”  
  
Dean laughed, pulling into the driveway of her and Sam’s home.  
  
“Maybe,” He said, “Could be fun.”  
  
  
  
A week later, Dean was sitting in Jo’s home office, eyes glued to the TV in the corner. Jo was perched on the desk next to him, and they’d both been watching quietly for the last fifteen minutes.  
  
The local cops in some small town in Minnesota had come across a guy sleeping in a stolen car in a Wal Mart parking lot. He’d driven off into the forest on the edge of town, and witnesses were saying a teen girl had been with him.  
  
Dean knew that John knew how to steal a car, and he hoped with everything he had that John was passed out somewhere in a bar in Winnipeg. The live footage on the news was showing the car, abandoned at the tree line with the doors open. It had apparently been left running. There was a forensics team in white paper suits, going through the contents of the car, gathering DNA and fingerprints and personal belongings.  
  
“Dean, this is a good thing,” Jo said, turning to look at him.  
  
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“It is,” She insisted, “They’ll get the guy’s fingerprints and it won’t match your dad’s. His name will be cleared in a matter of hours, I promise you.”  
  
Dean nodded, eyes fixed on the screen where the breaking news was rolling across the bottom. He wished his Dad had a cellphone so he could call him, let him know.  
  
Like it knew he was thinking about it, his phone started ringing from it’s place on the desk, and he jumped at the sound, arm shooting out to answer it.  
  
“Hello?” he said, his heart pounding.  
  
_“Hey,”_ came Sam’s voice, _“Are you seeing this?”_  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, swallowing, “This is good news right?”  
  
_“It’s excellent news. Dad’s name will be cleared in no time at all. This is the best thing that could have happened right now.”_  
  
Dean took a deep breath.  
  
“Okay, well. Hopefully he sees the news and comes home,” Dean said.  
  
_“Yeah,”_ Sam said, _“It’s going to be okay.”_  
  
He sat with Jo for the rest of the afternoon, watching the mounting coverage. It was mostly just a replay of all the same interviews, but Dean felt too unsettled to keep his eyes off it. Jo eventually switched the set off and ushered Dean out the door, with instructions to let her know when he got home.  
  
He forgot, of course. Mostly because when he pulled up in the driveway, Cas was standing by the garage door, his sleeves rolled up as he washed away that day’s spray paint.  
  
Dean watched him for a second, his strong forearms, the muscles moving in his back, under his shirt. Then he sighed, and pulled himself together.  
  
“Hey,” Dean said, getting out of the car, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Cas turned then, smiling at him.  
  
“Well I saw the news,” He said, seeming unsure, “And I wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing okay. I figured I’d...” He trailed off, gesturing with the wet sponge to the garage door.  
  
“Thanks,” Dean said, moving to sit on the hood of the Impala, only a couple of feet from Cas, “I’m doing okay.”  
  
“Good,” Cas said, gripping the sponge between his fingers. He swallowed.  
  
Dean watched him, too tired to be wound up by his presence.  
  
“Wanna come in?” He offered, nodding towards the front door.  
  
“Would that be alright?” Cas asked, his hands still soapy.  
  
“Don’t see why not,” Dean said, shrugging as he stood, heading towards the house.  
  
He heard Cas follow him inside, and Dean grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen so Cas could dry his hands.  
  
“I’m gonna make some dinner. You want to stay?” Dean asked, not quite able to look at Cas just yet.  
  
“Sure,” Cas said, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen, “I’d love that.”  
  
“I got these steaks, thought my dad might be home in time to eat ‘em. You down?”  
  
“That sounds great Dean,” Cas said, “Is your father out of town?”  
  
“Who’s asking, you or Dick?” Dean said, getting Cas a beer from the fridge.  
  
Cas sighed, taking the bottle from him.  
  
“I haven’t spoken to Richard about you or your father,” Cas said, looking him dead in the eye, “I promise.”  
  
“Does he know you’re here?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“No,” Cas said, keeping his gaze steady, “I told him I was still at work.”  
  
“Well, I guess I get to be your dirty little secret,” Dean said, his tone clipped, looking down at the counter.  
  
“It’s not like that,” Cas said sharply, “I’m not telling him because it’s none of his business. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”  
  
Dean turned to face Cas, feeling slightly awestruck.  
  
“How you ‘feel about me’?” He asked, incredulous.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Cas said, finally breaking eye contact, rubbing at his furrowed brow.  
  
“I really don’t, Cas,” Dean felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, because this wasn’t fair, this was so not fair.  
  
“I mean that we’re friends, and it’s separate from Richard and his stupid article,” Cas said, clutching at his beer, “At least, I hope we’re friends.”  
  
And he looked so hopeful that Dean couldn’t fucking take it.  
  
“Yeah,” He sighed, “Of course we are.”  
  
Dean could kick himself for saying it, knowing he should keep his distance, but then Cas smiled at him, warm and familiar, and Dean’s resolve crumbled. He smiled back, and pulled the steak out of the fridge.  
  
“So,” He said, “I don’t actually know what you do, Cas. Tell me about your job.”  
  
  
Later that evening, after Cas had left, he sent a text to Bela, asking her to put him in touch with the guy from her office.  
  
He needed some way to cope, to get through this.  
  
  
The guy’s name was Michael, and he was ridiculously handsome. Dean met him at a bar downtown, and they hit it off straight away. Dean tried not to think about Cas too much as they sat and talked, and he told himself he did a pretty good job of it.  
  
“So,” Dean said, “I know Bela is in acquisitions, but what do you do at the firm?”  
  
“I’m in sales.” Michael said, smiling, “I close deals.”  
  
The way his eyes raked up Dean’s body gave him shivers, and he felt heat in his cheeks.  
  
“Listen,” Michael said, “Bela told me you’re bisexual.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Is that a problem?”  
  
“No! Of course not,” Michael said, still smiling at him, although he looked somewhat nervous, “I just want to be honest with you.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, apprehensive.  
  
“I’m polyamorous, and in an open relationship,” Michael said, looking Dean straight in the eye.  
  
Dean felt a bit taken aback.  
  
“So... Your boyfriend knows you’re here?” He said.  
  
“Well,” Michael added, “Actually, she’s my wife. And yes, she knows.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean said, “Cool.”  
  
“Thing is,” Michael said, “Sometimes we like to...”  
  
“You want a threesome,” Dean said finishing his sentence.  
  
Michael laughed a bit, his smile still charming.  
  
“If you're interested,” he said.  
  
“What's your wife like?” Dean asked, grinning a little.  
  
He was kind of relieved. Thinking about going on a romantic date had put a rock in the pit of his stomach, but knowing that this gorgeous man wanted Dean to sleep with him and his wife... Dean felt a weight lift from his shoulders.  
  
“This is Anna,” Michael said, pulling Dean from his thoughts.  
  
Standing next to them at the bar was the most gorgeous red head Dean had ever seen.  
  
“Hi,” Dean said, offering his hand for her to shake, “I'm Dean.”  
  
“Hi Dean,” she said, taking his hand.  
  
“So you both want to sleep with me, at the same time,” Dean said, wanting to clarify the situation.  
  
They shared a look, Anna leaning into Michael's side.  
  
“Yes, if you're okay with that,” Michael said, looking back at Dean.  
  
“I'm more than okay with it,” Dean said.  
  
The tension between them was growing and the thought of being pressed between these two beautiful people had Dean's blood rushing south.  
  
Michael paid for their drinks while Anna lead Dean out to the parking lot. She pulled him down for a kiss, and her lips were so soft that Dean got lost in them. He didn't hear Michael come up behind them, pressing the hot line of his torso along Dean's back and placing kisses against the nape of his neck.  
  
“We should get out of here,” Michael whispered to them.  
  
Anna got into the Impala beside Dean, directing him to follow Michael's car back to their house. She was very helpful, sitting right next to Dean the whole way, one hand trailing lazily up and down his thigh.  
  
  
Everything moved pretty quickly from there, and the next time Dean had a moment to breathe, he was naked on their bed with Michael between his legs, stretching him open with two fingers, while Anna straddled his lap and sucked hickeys onto his chest, his cock pressing heavy and wet between her ass cheeks.  
  
She ground back against him, turning her head so that she could kiss her husband.  
  
Dean watched them kiss, his eyes hooded and wanting, and his ran his hands up Anna's soft thighs. Michaels hand covered his and pulled them to her hips, where they both started moving her, Michael shifting so that his cock slid next to Dean's, rubbing together between their bodies.  
  
“Fuck me,” Dean said, looking right at Michael, “Please.”  
  
“Well, you are the guest,” Anna said.  
  
She got off of his lap and Dean rolled over, getting up on all fours and pushing his ass back against Michael.  
  
Anna shuffled a little, getting beneath him and he lifted a arm to make it easier for her to slide under his chest. He lowered himself until he was pressed against her breasts, and she kissed him again, open mouthed and desperate.  
  
“Are you ready?” Michael said from behind him, and Dean heard a condom wrapper being opened, and then the hot press of a cock against his rim.  
  
“Yes,” Dean said, panting into Anna's mouth.  
  
Michael pushed into him and Dean needed a second to breathe.  
  
It had been so long since Dean had bottomed like this, firm hands on his hips as a thick length slid home inside of him. And he'd never had a beautiful woman underneath him as it happened.  
  
Anna reached behind him, pulling his cheeks apart so that Michael could bury himself to the hilt. He leaned down over Dean's back and kissed his wife.  
  
Dean felt his own cock slip between Anna's legs, where it was warm and wet.  
  
“Should I get a condom?’ he asked her, one hand pinching one of her nipples and he braced himself on one arm.  
  
“I want you to eat me,” She said, mouthing along his jaw.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean said, and he lifted his torso off her so that she could move up the bed.  
  
She was laying back against the head of the bed, her thighs over Dean's shoulder and her hands in his hair, and she pushed his face between her legs.  
  
She was so wet and warm, spreading over Dean's tongue as he licked into her, the scent of it overwhelming.  
  
Soon she was dripping down his chin, cradling the back of his head as she kept him firmly between her legs. He couldn't help but moan against her as Michael was thrusting into him, changing pace and angle every couple of minutes.  
  
No one had touched his dick yet, but he was hard and leaking, precome dripping down on their bedspread.  
  
“God, you're so tight,” Michael said, grinding his hips against Dean's ass.  
  
“I think you're just big,” Dean said, coming up for air.  
  
“He is pretty big,” Anna added, pushing Dean's face back between her legs.  
  
He swirled his tongue around her clit, moaning against it and sucking gently, while rolling his hips in rhythm with Michael's thrusts.  
  
“Anna, I miss you,” Michael said, slowing to a stop behind Dean.  
  
“Should we move around?” Anna asked, petting Dean's hair.  
  
“That alright with you Dean?” Michael said, slipping out of his hole.  
  
“Sure,” Dean said, “How do you want me?”  
  
“Get on your back, and we'll both fuck you,” Anna said, lifting her legs from his shoulders.  
Dean did as he was told, laying back against the bed, and Michael grabbed his legs, shuffling on his knees until he had Dean’s ass in his lap. He pushed back into Dean's wet opening, moaning as he bottomed out.  
  
Anna looked in the bedside table, returning to the bed with a condom, which she rolled down over Dean's length. She settled herself on her knees over Dean, back pressed against Michael's front.  
  
They were so good looking, Dean could hardly believe his luck. And they were so in-tune, Anna turning to kiss Michael over her shoulder, in tandem with her husband’s movements. She reached behind her to grip at Dean’s thighs, while Michael ran his hands over her body, pinching at her nipples, and squeezing her sides, sliding southward.  
  
Dean felt incredible; Anna moving, warm and wet around his cock, while Michael rolled in and out of him, movements stilted a little by his arms around his wife. Michael rubbed at her, fingers sliding through her wet folds, down to where Dean disappeared inside of her. They both stared at him, and he couldn’t take the scrutiny, closing his eyes and just feeling.  
  
It had been so long since he’d last had sex, months and months, not since before he found out about Cas. His eyes flicked open again, focusing on the couple in front of him—he wouldn’t let himself think about that now. God, but this really was the best of both worlds. A beautiful woman and a beautiful man, riding him together. There couldn’t be anything better, he thought, believing his own lie.  
  
Anna came first, clenching around him as Michael worked her through her orgasm, kissing her neck as she shuddered.  
  
“You want to get off of him, honey?” He asked her, kissing behind her ear.  
  
“No, he feels nice,” She said, smoothing her hands along Dean’s stomach, smiling down at him through hooded eyes as she slumped back against her husband.  
  
“He does, doesn’t he?” Michael added, picking up the roll of his hips again, thrusting into Dean which in turn thrust Dean up into Anna.  
  
“Can we make him come now?” Anna asked, and it drove Dean crazy, how they talked about him like he wasn’t even there.  
  
“Please,” He gasped just as a particularly well aimed thrust brushed Michael’s thick cock against his prostate, “You feel so good.”  
  
Anna grinned, sitting up straight again as she started moving her hips, rolling and grinding.  
  
Dean couldn’t handle it and after about a minute of them both staring at him while they worked him over, the heat building in his gut until he couldn’t hold it any longer and he came, spilling into the condom inside of Anna’s wet heat. Michael kept fucking him through it, pushing in fast and shallow as Dean moaned.  
  
“Fuck,” He panted, gazing up dazedly at the pair of them.  
  
“Did you like that?” Michael asked, still rolling his hips.  
  
“Yeah, was amazing,” Dean said.  
  
Anna smiled, and lifted herself off Dean’s cock, which was starting to get sensitive. She removed the condom and threw it towards a trashcan in the corner of the room. Suddenly she was face to face with Dean, Michael having pushed her forward until she was lying on top of him.  
  
Dean saw him discard his own condom on the bed spread, and then, judging by Anna’s moan, push into his wife, fucking into her with a vice-like grip on her hips. It was the hottest fucking thing Dean had ever seen, and he couldn’t take his eyes off them, Michael’s face as he grunted and fucked his wife, and Anna’s face as she she took it rough and fast, her body pressed against Dean as her husband used her.  
  
He came fairly quickly, slamming deep inside Anna as he spilled, and Dean watched him cry out, grinding a little through his orgasm.  
  
He pulled out gently and collapsed onto the bed next to Dean. Anna rolled off him and disappeared into the ensuite, the sweat on her body glowing in the lamplight.  
  
Michael moved closer to Dean, cupping his face with one hand as he pulled him in for a kiss, deep and slow.  
  
“Did you have a nice time?” Michael asked, murmuring the words against Dean’s lips.  
  
“I had an incredible time,” Dean said, “Was it good for you?”  
  
“Well, I’ll have to ask Anna,” Michael replied, nibbling at Dean’s lower lip, “But I think it’s safe to was we both enjoyed ourselves.”  
  
Dean smiled, flicking his tongue gently against Michael’s, rolling into him to press their bodies together.  
  
“Would you like to see us again sometime?” Michael asked, placing wet kisses all along Dean’s jaw.  
  
“Yes,” Dean said, without a moment’s hesitation, “Whenever.”  
  
Michael pulled back, smiling at him.  
  
“You know, we have quite busy schedules, so sometimes it might just be me, or just Anna,” He said.  
  
“And you’re okay with that?” Dean asked, tracing the muscles in Michael’s chest.  
  
“Yes,” Anna said, entering the room, again, with a warm washcloth, “We definitely want to see you again, alone or together. Is that what we’re talking about? If not, it is now.”  
  
Dean laughed, watching her climb up on the bed behind Michael, hooking her chin over his shoulder.  
  
“So how does this work?” He asks them.  
  
“We like to have a group text. Any arrangements will be made in there, so all parties are aware. Even if I’m just asking you to come over to fool around a little, Anna needs to know.”  
  
“Mm, I’d definitely like to know. Give me something nice to think about while I’m stuck at work.”  
  
“Alright, I’m in.” Dean said.  
  
“Great!” Anna said, smiling at him, “We like to keep it casual, so you’re more than welcome to see other people as well, you don’t need to inform us of that—”  
  
“Unless you want to,” Michael interjected.  
  
“Of course, we love hearing details,” Anna added, “And it’s nothing serious, maybe we only do this once more, maybe we hang out for a couple of months, whatever you want is fine.”  
  
“You two are gorgeous, I can’t imagine you have trouble finding a third.”  
  
“We don’t,” Michael laughed, “But you seem like a good fit for right now.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said, grinning at them both.  
  
They talked a bit more, exchanging numbers, and then Dean left them for the evening, driving home with a smile on his face, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. This was a good thing, he thought. Some nice, casual sex with two ridiculously hot people to help get his mind off of everything.  
  
Things were looking up, he thought.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“Are you coming over for fourth of July?” Sam asked.

Dean was out to dinner with his brother and Bela. She'd been wanting to try a new restaurant downtown, and Sam wanted to double date. Dean didn't feel like explaining that he was casually seeing a married couple, so he showed up alone.

“Sure,” Dean said, “Beer's on you, right?”

“Do I have to be there?” Bela said, looking bored.

“Yes” Sam said, “It’ll be fun, Bel, I promise.”

Bela rolled her eyes but Dean saw her smile when Sam leaned over to kiss her cheek.

“Fine,” she said, “But I'm not eating any sausages.”

“You mean hot dogs?” Dean said, laughing.

“I mean what I said,” Bela replied, pointing at him in faux seriousness.

“I'll have veggie dogs too,” Sam added, “Susan and Ron are vegetarians.”

“Is that meant to make it more appealing?” Dean said, a disgusted look on his face.

Bela hid her laugh behind her hand, and Sam shot him an unamused look.

“I invited Cas, by the way,” He added.

“What?” Dean said, panicking a little, “No. You can't do that.”

“I can and I have, Dean,” Sam replied, “You said yourself that you were getting along again. He's my friend too.”

Dean sighed, looking down at his now unappealing chicken parmigiana. If he just had five minutes away from the guy, he could sort out his feelings and be prepared.

“Fine,” He said.

“Also can you make burger patties?” Sam asked, “I’m happy to grill them, I just really want them to taste amazing.”

“Okay, but you can make your own damn veggie garbage,” Dean said, pushing his food around his plate with his fork.

He wasn’t sure why Cas had to be everywhere that he was. It felt like he couldn’t get a minute free from the constant barrage and he wasn’t even that cut up about it. He just pretended to be annoyed so he could convince himself he was. He shook his head a little, trying to get rid of that particular train of thought.

“Have you heard from Dad?” He asked.

“Nope, have you?” Sam said.

“Nah.”

“He’ll show up,” Bela said, busy reading a message on her phone, “There will be plenty of free alcohol, so I’m sure he’ll arrive just in time for the holidays.”

Dean grimaced, knowing Bela was partially right.

He got home just after eleven, but the driveway was as empty as ever. The patch on the garage door hadn’t been tampered with since Dean had taped a copy of the fingerprints to it—the report stated that the fingerprints found in the abandoned vehicle didn’t match the prints they had on file for John.

He’d given another copy to Cas, asking him to pass it on to his boyfriend, but Dean hadn’t seen anything in the paper’s yet. He wasn’t sure if Roman just hadn’t bothered, or if Cas had kept the report to himself.

Victor had told him that the case would probably start getting even more notice nationwide because there was evidence suggesting that Lacey Gibson’s captivity wasn’t entirely forced. Dean just hoped that John was keeping an eye on the news and would come home soon.

  
  


“Wait, so you’re sleeping with the husband as well as the wife?” Charlie asked, her mouth agape.

Dean shushed her, knowing that their voices carried through the shop easily.

“I’m sorry, but that’s nuts,” She said, her eyes wide. “How do I get in on this?”

“They’re a package deal, but maybe you could sleep with Anna while Michael watched?”

“Hm,” Charlie said, “No, I would want her to myself. Ask them if they have a single gay friend.”

“Anna’s meeting me after my shift, you can ask her yourself.”

“Oh my gosh, and she’s taking you home to sleep with her man?”

“No, Michael’s out of town, so she asked me to fuck her while he watches over Skype.” Dean explained, grinning.

“You lucky, lucky boy,” Charlie said.

“I know,” Dean said.

When Charlie saw Anna she gave an exaggerated double thumbs up while Anna wasn’t looking, and Dean laughed.

He drove Anna to her house and then watched as she set up the laptop on the bedside table.

“I want you to fuck her, nice and hard,” Were the instructions from Michael, who was sitting naked in his hotel room.

For the next twenty minutes, Dean had Anna’s legs over his shoulders, and the sound of Michael moaning echoing through the room. She was hot and wet, and the sweet noises she made were all Dean needed to get lost in the feeling of it, to forget about all the shit he had going on elsewhere in his life.

He was still inside her, cock starting to soften after his orgasm, while she talked Michael through his own. Dean joined in, promising that Michael can fuck him wherever he liked when he got back. Michael came over his fist, and the sight of it was so hot that Dean just wanted to spread Anna wide and get back down to it.

Instead, he bid them a good night and left them to talk in private. It was nice, he thought, how they could sleep with whoever they liked and still be so obviously in love with each other.

Dean turned onto his street, hoping he might have something like that someday, a nice guy or girl to come home to, to share things with. Suddenly he was thinking about Castiel and what coming home to him might be like, and the idea of it made Dean feel like he’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.

He pulled into his driveway and slumped down on the bench seat, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He couldn’t do this anymore, he thought, not again. He wasn’t keeping his guard up enough and it was going to get him in trouble. He’d get through July fourth and then he’d slowly begin to cut Cas out of his life. Again. He’d have to, if he was going to survive.

  
  


The story broke on July third. It was all over the newspapers that get delivered to The Depot at five forty-five that morning, and Ellen had the small television out back switched on to the local news which was going non-step.

Lacey Gibson hadn’t been kidnapped, she’d run away.

She wasn’t being held captive, but considering she was a minor, the unidentified man with her was still wanted by the police.

When they’d abandoned the car in Minnesota, Lacey had forgotten to take her diary—inside was nearly six months worth of entries explaining her decision to run away, as well as her life on the road with her ‘fiance’. They were waiting for her sixteenth birthday in a couple of months, and then they’d drive to Michigan with a forged note of parental consent in order to get married.

Dean couldn’t believe it. Well, he could, he was giddy with relief, but his father was completely off the hook, and the girl wasn’t going to be murdered. Probably. There was an endless loop of her parents pleading on the news for her to come home to them, but Dean felt at peace with the whole thing.

He drove home after work with the radio up loud and his windows down, feeling like the weight of the world had disappeared from his shoulders. So John was still gone, but he’d be back soon, Dean was sure of it—they had news in Canada.

He spent his evening making burger patties and drinking beer, getting ready for the following day. Cas was going to be there, and he suddenly felt good about it, good about seeing his friend. Maybe they’d hang out and talk about old times.

Dean was still thinking about Cas when he went to bed. h=He thought about how maybe after the fireworks he and Cas could talk, maybe Cas would tell him it was over with Roman. Then Dean would kiss him and it would be everything he ever wanted. They’d go upstairs, and Cas would press Dean down into the mattress and touch him all over.

He was hard just thinking about it, pulling his cock out of his boxers and stroking himself, imagining how Cas’s hand might feel in place of his own. How Cas’s dick might feel in his hands, in his mouth. What Cas would taste like. What he would feel like, skin sliding against his own, how smooth and soft he would be, his chest, his thighs, the length of his cock. Did Cas have a pretty cock? Dean was certain of it, wanted to touch it, to lick it, take it in his mouth and look up at Cas, watch him fall apart because of Dean. Wanted to swallow everything he had to offer, savor the taste and roll it over his tongue, to lean up and kiss Cas, spend still on his lips.

Dean spilled over his stomach, Cas’s name on his lips, and lay there panting. He wiped himself off with a tissue before rolling over and falling asleep slowly, only feeling a little guilty about his fantasy.

  


Dawn came, bright and early. It was going to be a warm day, and Dean drove over to Sam’s first thing. He’d promised to make his brother chocolate chip pancakes, like Mary used to on big holidays.

“I can’t believe you eat them with chocolate syrup instead of maple syrup,” Dean said, wrinkling his nose at Bela.

“I don’t care,” Bela said, pointedly pouring more chocolate over her plate.

“Your girl’s a heathen,” Dean said to his brother.

“Aw, but I love her all the same,” Sam said, smiling warmly at Bela.

Bela responded by licking chocolate sauce off her finger way too seductively for Dean’s liking.

“Hey,” He said, feigning seriousness, “What exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?”

“Do you really want to know?” Bela said, grinning at him.

“...No.”

“Good boy.”

  


Bobby arrived at eleven, and more people started trickling in after that. Dean put up folding tables and fired up the grill and hung the stupid bunting that Sam had insisted on buying.

He didn’t see Cas arrive, but all of a sudden he was at Dean’s elbow, holding out a cold beer.

“You looked thirsty,” He explained.

Dean swallowed, his thoughts from the night before rushing back to him. He hoped he could blame his flushed cheeks on the heat.

“Thanks,” He replied, “Where’s your partner?”

“Oh, Richard’s been out of town, but he said he’d try and stop by at some point.”

“Hope he doesn’t miss the fireworks,” Dean said.

“I’ll let him know,” Cas replied, smiling softly at him.

It was okay, he could do this.

“I like the decorations,” Cas said, laughing a little as he gestured towards the uneven bunting.

“Fuck off,” Dean said

“It’s nice!” Cas laughed. God, Cas laughing was the stuff of dreams.

“If Sam wanted it done properly he should have done it himself.”

Cas laughed again and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“Hey, Bobby gave in and agreed to play beer pong with Ash, I don’t want to miss it,” Cas said, pulling Dean by his shirt sleeve, “Let’s go see.”

Dean followed behind him, admiring the set of Cas’s strong, broad shoulders, his thick arms stretching his T-shirt. Dean tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Cas as a grown man was a lot bulkier than the one he’d known before, and Dean had to work hard to stop himself from leaning forward and licking one of those biceps.

Dean shook himself mentally, not wanting to go down that path. Late at night, alone in his room, those things were okay to think but Cas was here in front of him and now wasn’t the time.

He tried to focus on Bobby learning the rules of the game, but Cas’s shoulders kept bumping his, their forearms brushing against one another as they stood so close together in Sam’s backyard, crowded in by everyone wanting to see the match.

Dean swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes on the table. He had no idea what was happening, but he could feel the vibration of Castiel’s voice, his laugh, buzzing along his skin and into his chest.

“Hey, I’m gonna get some water,” He told Cas, extricating himself from the group.

Cas just nodded and kept his eyes on the table

Dean got inside as fast as he could without running, and leaned against the kitchen counter, thankful that Sam had agreed to leave the air-conditioning on. He ran the cold tap, and put his hands under the stream of water; the low temperature cooling him off, bringing him back to reality.

He couldn’t do this to himself, not today. Cas was his friend, but he had an asshole boyfriend, and he clearly didn’t want Dean. He needed to pull it together and stop wanting Cas so damn bad.

He heard the front door click open, so he dried his hands and went to greet whoever had just arrived.

“Dean,” said a voice.

“Dad?” Dean replied.

Because there he was. John, standing in the foyer looking dishevelled and tired.

“Hi,” John said.

“Where have you been?” Dean asked.

“Away. Didn’t want to go to prison.” John replied, shuffling further into the house, “Drove all night to get here.”

Dean didn’t bother with an ‘I told you so,’ he just ushered his father into the kitchen and sat him down with a glass of water.

“Drink this,” He said, moving towards the fridge to grab some leftover pancakes, shuffling a couple onto a clean plate.

He heard John stand again, chair scraping across the floor.

“Dad?” He said, but John had disappeared down the hallway, in the direction of the backyard.

Dean left the pancakes on the counter and followed his father outside. He sighed, spotting his father ambling towards the beer coolers.

“Wow,” Cas said, coming to stand beside him on the porch, “Is that John?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, watching him crack open a beer and start draining the can.

“I haven’t seen him in years,” Cas said, “He looks different.”

“Well he’s a severe alcoholic now instead of just a regular one,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

Cas bumped their shoulders together.

“I’m sorry,” He said, “Must have been rough.”

Dean shrugged.

“It is what it is,” He said.

“He’s home now, at least.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be sad, Dean,” Cas said, turning to face him, “Today’s meant to be fun.”

“I’m not sad, I’m just tired,” Dean said, meeting Cas’s gaze. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.

“Come on,” Cas said, “Let’s get your mind off things.”

Dean nodded, looking back out across the yard. John was on his second beer, and Sam was approaching him.

“Okay,” He said.

He watched as Cas made them each a plate, stacked high with the most ridiculous burgers Dean had ever seen—Cas made sure to put everything on them. He handed Dean the burgers and set out on making a third plate, a small platter of cold cuts and cheeses and crackers. He swiped a bottle of wine from the table and tucked it under his arm.

“Come on,” Cas said, leading Dean around to the front of the house, where there was a swing seat on the porch.

“Don’t think about any of that, okay?” Cas said, sitting Dean down, “Let’s just eat and enjoy the weather.”

“Okay,” Dean said, smiling as Cas arranged the food between them.

They sat together, mostly silent as the seat moved gently in the breeze. As they ate, Cas told him stories about his job, and the time he’d gone to New York on his own. Dean laughed and he felt so light. Maybe that was the wine. The cicadas were out and Cas looked calm and happy. It was a good day, Dean thought, and he hoped someone else would deal with John. He just wanted to sit here with Cas, swaying in the afternoon light.

“Dean,” Cas said, jolting Dean out of his daydream, “Someone’s calling you.”

He could hear it now, Bela’s voice coming from inside the house.

“I’d better go see what she needs,” Dean said, standing, only swaying a little on his feet.

“Okay,” Cas replied, “I’ll be right in.”

Dean opened the front door, heading through the house.

“Bela?” He called out.

“God, there you are,” She said, appearing from the living room, “Do I look presentable?”

“You look fine,” Dean said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, but I need to know if I look nice.” Bela said, an edge to her voice.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he took stock of the situation. Bela had changed clothes, into a lovely sun dress, and had done her hair up into a cute bun.

“Oh my god,” he said, the pieces falling together, “You’re doing it?”

Bela nodded, a small, terse thing.

“You look beautiful. He’ll never see it coming.”

“I just—” She swallowed, “People will be taking a lot of photos and I want to look nice.”

“You’re perfect,” Dean said, grinning at her, “Get out there and let’s do this thing.”

She nodded, smoothing her dress down. As she went towards the back yard. Dean followed behind her, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen to get Cas, who was carrying the paper plates and long empty wine bottle.

“Dude, leave those for later. You need to come see this,” he said.

Cas did as asked, dumping the remnants of their picnic haphazardly on the kitchen table before joining Dean in the backyard.

“What’s going on?” he murmured to Dean, bumping their shoulders together.

“Something good,” Dean said, smiling at him softly.

Bela had reached Sam’s side by this point, and gently pulled him away from his conversation.

“What’s up, Bel?” Dean heard him say.

“I want to say something,” Bela said, and Dean could only pick out the waver in her voice because he already knew she was nervous.

“Okay,” Sam said, and he sounded a little concerned. Bela took his hands in hers, and smiled at him. It was only Dean and Cas watching, and Sam looked over at them, checking that nothing bad had happened.

Dean grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“I love you,” Bela said, “A lot.”

Sam smiled at her, a bit confused. Dean saw Charlie pull her phone out from the corner of his eye.

“I love you too,” he said, squeezing her hands.

“Good,” Bela said, “So you won’t mind if—”

She got down on one knee and Sam stared at her, dumbstruck, as she fetched the ring box from the pocket of her dress.

“Oh my god,” Dean saw him whisper.

“Sam, will you marry me?” Bela said, her voice carrying. People turned to look, and there was a second of silence as they waited.

“Yes,” Sam said, breathless, “Of course. Duh.” He pulled Bela to her feet, kissing her. Dean was the first one to cheer, and he heard Cas follow suit beside him.

Bela was smiling, blushing a little as she slid the engagement ring onto Sam’s finger.

“Congratulations,” Dean said, walking over to them, hugging Bela and then his brother.

“Did you know about this?” Sam asked, and Dean didn’t even make fun of him for tearing up.

“Yes,” Dean said in a stupid voice, “Of course. Duh.”

“Shut up,” Sam shoved him a little, but he was too happy to be mad.

Dean turned, letting other people in to congratulate the newly-engaged, and he saw Cas.

“That was lovely,” Cas said, all gummy smiles and hooded eyes. Dean hadn’t drunk wine in a while, but Cas had had more than him, by quite a bit.

“It was.” Dean agreed, “She didn’t want to propose at a fourth of July yard party, but she said Sam would catch on too quick if she took him anywhere nice.”

“Well, she certainly caught him off guard.”

“Yeah she definitely did, he said ‘Duh, I’ll marry you’,” Dean said, laughing.

“It’s romantic,” Cas said, “He was so certain, and it was obvious to him that he’d never even consider saying something else.”

His eyes were heavy on Dean and Dean found he couldn’t take the heat.

“You ever think about getting married?” he said, and then wanted to kick himself for such a poor change of subject.

“Yes,” Cas said, “If I found the right person.”

“Roman ain’t the right person?” Dean asked before he could stop himself, raising an eyebrow.

Cas smiled a little, considering his answer.

“If he asked me right now, I wouldn’t say ‘duh’, let me put it that way,” he said.

“Sucks for him,” Dean said, not able to break eye contact.

“I guess,” Cas said, “But I honestly don’t know that he’d ask.”

“His loss,” Dean said, voice low.

“Someone else’s gain,” Cas replied, matching Dean’s tone.

Dean felt his stomach flutter and he ducked his head.

“I’m going to get the ice cream,” He muttered, leaving Cas standing alone in the yard as he rushed inside.

What in the fuck was that? What was that? Dean grabbed the ice cream tubs from the freezer and the paper bowls from the cupboard and his heart pounding in his chest because what did that mean?

He shoved everything onto the kitchen table and took a deep breath, steadying himself with both hands on the back of a wooden chair.

How could Cas come over, tell Dean all about his handsome, charming boyfriend and then talk like that, like he wasn't—Dean couldn't think straight.

It probably meant nothing. Cas was just making conversation, he was just trying to be nice.

Dean gathered everything in his arms and went back to the party, a smile on his face. He couldn't think about this now, didn't want to deal with it at all because really, there was nothing to deal with.

Bela and Sam were standing alone under the big Oak tree in the corner, whispering to each other and trading soft, sweet kisses. Dean's gut clenched at the sight of them, so filled with joy but also so aware of something missing. He shoved the thought away and called everyone over to help themselves to the sundae station.

  


Later on, after the sun had set and Bobby was helping Sam set up the fireworks, Dean had a moment to breathe. Cas was leaning against the porch rail, talking to Charlie. They were gently lit by the bonfire and Charlie's hair was flaming, but Dean couldn't take his eyes off of Cas.

He'd become so different in their time apart, but he was still exactly what Dean wanted, what his heart felt like it needed. He was still handsome, only this time with more lines and happy wrinkles by his eyes. And he was still kind and sweet and interesting, only now he was more self assured.

Dean had never wanted anyone else as much as he had wanted Cas, and that was still true. Maybe there was hope.

The first fireworks started shooting up into the sky and Cas was bathed in red and blue colors, sparks of light drifting down through the air. Dean thought he glowed, his smile soft and radiant, watching the explosions high above their heads.

Dean missed the entire thing. Sam was setting up the final round, the big cracker everyone had been waiting for and Dean kept his eyes on Cas, across the lawn and looking so perfect. He was standing alone now, Charlie having left at some point, Dean didn't notice when. Cas turned his gaze from the sky, looking out across the grass. Dean was treated to a view of him in profile and his stomach flipped, not able to handle how beautiful he was.

Cas was smiling wider, and when the big rocket went off overhead, the yard was illuminated and Dean could see why.

Roman had made it after all. He moved into Cas's space, familiar and sure, and pulled him in for a kiss, slow and warm. Cas was in his partner's arms, one hand on his cheek, painfully sweet to look at. They were whispering to each other, so close together that their lips touched, and Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

The people in the yard, his friends and family, were clapping and cheering, enjoying the end of the show. Dean felt like it was the worst thing he'd ever seen. The sparks had lost their luster, along with the rest of the evening and Dean just wanted to go home.

Dean made his way to where John was slumped over in a lawn chair, untouched soda in his hand.

“Come on,” Dean said, “I'm gonna drive you home.”

John grunted, struggling to get up even with Dean's help. He slung an arm around Dean's shoulder and they shuffled off together towards the street. Dean didn't bother saying goodbye to anyone.

' _Sorry to cut out early,’_ he texted to Sam _, 'had to get dad home_.’

He chucked his phone on the bench seat between John and himself and pulled away from the curb. John was fast asleep against the window and if Dean spent an hour driving around aimlessly it was nobody's business but his.

  
  


Victor called him the following morning.

“ _Just wanted to let you know I’ve cleared up the BOLO on John’s truck,_ ” He said.

“Thanks, man,” Dean replied, phone between his ear and shoulder as he shuffled around the kitchen. He had the day off, thanks to Ellen, and he’d felt a sudden need to cook a huge breakfast.

“ _It’s no problem,_ ” Victor said.

“You have a good time yesterday?” Dean asked, whisking eggs in a bowl.

“ _Yeah, your brother grills a mean veggie patty_ ,” Victor said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean said, listening to Victor laugh through the phone.

“ _What about you_ ,” Victor asked, “ _You okay?_ ”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, shrugging even though Victor couldn’t see him.

“ _You looked mighty cozy with your buddy there for a while,_ ” Victor said, “ _Which was cute. I was surprised when that other guy showed up and your boy was all over him too_.”

“He wasn’t all over me,” Dean said, scowling.

“ _Sure he was. Touching your arm, batting his lashes_.”

“You’re reading too much into this,” Dean said, “You’ve got detective goggles on when you shouldn’t, and they’re making you see shit that ain’t really happening.”

“ _So he didn’t take you off for a private picnic and then gaze at you while you shared wine on a swing bench like a pair of teenagers?”_ Victor said, and Dean could just tell he had his smug face on.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“ _Then what was it like?_ ” Victor said, “ _I just mean that you don’t deserve to get played like that. He was flirting with you all day and then went home with another man. That’s messed up_.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, sighing, “It won’t happen again. If it ever happened in the first place.”

“ _Keep your eyes peeled, man,”_ Victor replied, his voice kind. “ _Don’t let yourself get strung along._ ”

“Honestly Vic, I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.” Dean said, leaning against the counter.

“ _All the more reason to be cautious_ ,” Victor replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Dean focused on his french toast, making much more than he could eat.

If he was being honest with himself, he was having trouble reconciling the Cas he knew before to the Cas he knew now.

Old Cas was just as funny and friendly and sweet, but he was a straight as an arrow. Is that what made it different now, the things Victor was seeing becoming something else due to a supposedly different identity?

It wasn’t like Dean could be objective. He liked to ignore it for the most part, but he knew how he felt about Cas and he knew that if he wasn’t careful, it would color the way he navigated their tenuous, complicated friendship, this thing going on between them. If there was anything. He’d known for a long time that Cas got loose-lipped when drinking, so maybe his comments meant nothing.

It hurt him to think that Cas might treat his heart like a playful joke, but it was better to anticipate it than make a fool of himself.

At some point John had shuffled in, so Dean set out the plates and slid the hulking stack of french toast onto the table between them.

“You sleep okay?” He asked his father.

“Yep,” John said, his eyes bleary and bloodshot.

“Long drive?” Dean asked, skewering slices of french toast with his fork to lift them over to his own plate.

“Yep,” John said, drinking out of his mug.

“I made coffee,” Dean said, reaching for the maple syrup.

“I know,” John said, lifting his mug as evidence.

“Fresh coffee,” Dean said, “Your mug’s not even steaming.”

“It’s cold,” John explained, “From last night.”

“You were passed out last night,” Dean replied, digging into his breakfast, “And your mug’s not steaming because it’s filled with bourbon.”

John looked at him, but Dean just raised an eyebrow and kept chewing.

“Fuck off,” John said, getting up from the table and stomping up the stairs.

Dean sighed.

Once he finished eating, he put the leftovers in the fridge and decided he needed to get out of the house. He’d already had a shit morning, why not make it a shit day.

“ _Can we get coffee?”_ he texted to Cas, sitting in his car.

“ _Sure,”_ Came the reply, “ _when?”_

_“Now. I can pick you up,”_ Dean typed out quickly.

“ _Great :)”._

Dean ignored the message, starting the Impala and heading towards Cas.

“Hey,” he said, pulling up to the curb outside Cas’s house, where he stood waiting on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” Cas said, smiling over at him.

They drove in silence until Cas pointed to a sign for a worn down diner two blocks ahead. Dean pulled into the lot, stomach churning over what he wanted to say, if he was imagining things between them.

They were seated in an old booth with cracked red leather, and Cas pushed the laminated menu towards him.

“I’m just going to get a coffee, do you want to eat anything?” he asked.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “I just had breakfast.”

Cas ordered them both coffee while Dean looked out the window, watching the cars pass by on the road outside. It was quiet, mid morning.

“You okay?” he heard, and he turned back to Cas.

“Kind of,” he said, “Big day yesterday.”

“No kidding. Bela seems nice.”

Dean snorted, “She can be.”

Cas was smiling at him, his eyes shining as he sipped his coffee.

“It was weird seeing you with Roman,” He blurted out.

Cas raised his eyebrows.

“You can call him by his first name, Dean.”

“When I went to fix your cable, he told me to call him Mr. Roman,” Dean said, feeling small.

“Oh god,” Cas said, rolling his eyes, “He’s such an asshole. Thinks he’s more important than he is. Trust me, you can call him Dick.”

“Okay,” Dean said.

“Why was it weird?” Cas asks, his voice soft.

Dean shrugged, chewing on his lip.

“Just odd, after all these years, to see you kissing a dude,” He said, not looking at Cas.

Cas reached forward, placing his hands over Dean’s, and Dean didn’t know where to look.

“Please believe me when I say I didn’t know myself then,” Cas said, almost pleading with him. “If I had, things between us would be so different.”

Dean pulled his hands out from under Cas’s and he felt like shit for it.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, Cas,” Dean said, pushing his coffee away.

“Why not? It’s true,” Cas said.

Dean had to close his eyes, take a deep breath.

“Because it hurts me,” He said, quiet and soft. “You show up to my brother’s house and you flirt with me and say these _things_ , Cas. You make me feel like I used to, like I’m trying not to. And then your boyfriend shows up and you kiss him in front of me like he makes you happy and I can’t deal with that.”

Cas still had his hands on the table in front, his eyes looking sad.

“I can try and be your friend again, and I want to, but I can’t take the flirting and the staring and the touching my hands if you’re just going to go home to someone else.”

“What are you saying?” Cas asked, his brow furrowed.

“Look, I’m sure you’re not doing it on purpose. You’re a good person and I know that about you, no matter how mad I’ve been in the past. But you’re playing with me.”

“I’m just trying to be your friend, same as before.” Cas said, sounding bewildered.

“You can’t, Cas. It can’t be that way,” Dean said, imploring him, “Because you were single then and I thought that maybe I had a chance. But now, you’re not, and I know I don’t.”

Cas closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his palm. Dean didn’t know what to do, what Cas was thinking, so he just watched, his stomach in knots.

Cas sighed, slumping back in his seat, his face conflicted.

“You cut me out,” Cas said, sounding bitter, “You severed the ties.”

“I had to,” Dean argued, leaning across the table, “To keep myself from drowning, I had to take care of myself. Pining after you was making me sick, and it was making me sad. You told me you were straight, that there was no hope for us. _Twice._ You were so certain of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said as his voice cracked, and the look on his face was fucking heartbreaking, “You don’t know how much I wish I’d known.”

“What difference would it have made?” Dean asked, “You knew where I lived. You could have come to me.”

“I thought you hated me,” Cas said, and his voice sounded raw.

“No,” Dean said, “I never have. I couldn't.”

“I didn’t understand,” Cas said, his eyes a little red, “I couldn’t figure out why it hurt so much to not have you in my life.”

Dean felt dizzy. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and yet his heart felt like it was going to explode.

“Guess I should have kept my email address,” he said, swallowing hard.

“No, you’re right. You needed to protect yourself. I’ve been so unfair to you Dean. Thinking back on what I said to you, how I treated you, it makes me feel awful, disgusted by myself and—,” He cut himself off and Dean honestly thought he might cry.

“Maybe in another life, huh?” Dean said, giving Cas a weak smile, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

Cas’s chin quivered, and he looked exactly how Dean felt.

“Take me home,” he said, throwing a ten dollar bill on the table.

Dean drove Cas back to his house, and neither of them said a word. He walked Cas to the front door, wanting to find a way to put a full stop on this conversation. Cas crossed the threshold, and turned to look at Dean.

It seemed to last forever.

Cas pulled him in, through the doorway, and closed it behind them. They stood together, breathing each other’s air, fingers desperate to touch.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice a broken whisper. Dean wanted nothing more than to take Cas’s face in his hands, press soft kisses to his lips, drink him in like sweet summer wine.

Dean’s pocket buzzed and broke the spell. He pulled his phone out and checked the offending text message.

‘ _Come over and wrap your pretty lips around my cock,’_ it said.

It was from Michael, in the group chat. Dean looked up at Cas and could tell by blush across his cheeks that he had read it too.

“Cas,” He started, not knowing what to say.

“This is a good thing,” Cas said, leaning against the wall behind him, creating space between them and dispersing the heat, “You should go do that.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Dean said, his voice shaking, and Cas looked like he was about to cry.

“I know,” Cas said, “But this is—we stopped. Before anything happened.”

“It’s not too late,” Dean said, almost imploring Cas to let him stay.

“I know,” Cas said, trying to smile but just looking sad, “And as much as I want to keep them here, your pretty lips don’t belong to me.”

Dean clenched his jaw, willing himself to not start blubbering there in the foyer of Castiel’s nice house. He nodded, jerking the door open and rushing to his car. The tires screeched as he pulled away from the curb and he didn’t know where to go.

He stopped at a red light and picked his phone up again, typing out a quick message to the group chat with Anna and Michael.

_“Got bad news. Wanna fuck me til I feel better?”_

His phone vibrated before the light turned green, letting him know he’d got a response straight away.

“ _Hurry,_ ” Was all it said.


	5. Chapter 5

 

It took Dean two weeks and three and a half bottles of Johnnie Walker Red to suppress everything. He spent his days working his ass off, and then he usually went straight home and spent his evenings drinking with John on the sofa while they watched TV—usually the news but sometimes the true crime channel, or an old spaghetti western.

They didn’t talk much, and Dean would put John to bed before falling into his own, laying awake and feeling sick until the wee hours of the morning.

Charlie would ask him what was wrong, every morning before their shift started but all he could do was shake his head and get on with his work, cleaning out the coffee machine, stacking cups, cleaning tables.

“I’m worried about you,” she said to him.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice flat as he didn’t look at her.

“You’re not,” she replied,

“Just leave it alone Charlie,” he said, exhaustion washing over him. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Charlie looked at him for a second, concern all over her face.

“Alright, but you need to tell someone eventually,” she said.

Sometimes he didn’t go straight home, but would drop by Anna and Michael’s house instead. The sex was hot, and they’d take turns fucking him. They knew something was up with him, but they didn’t ask any questions and he didn’t offer any information. He ignored how empty he felt afterwards and would go home, ignoring the twinge in his ass as he drank in silence.

 

It was halfway through August before anyone put their foot down. Ellen caught him making an Irish coffee in the back room of the store, pouring from a flask into a steaming hot take-away cup.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She said, her voice steely.

He looked her dead in the eyes.

“Makin’ a coffee,” he said, putting the lid back on to take a sip.

“Go home, Dean.”

“I’m fine to work,” he said, frowning.

“I don’t care,” she said, “I know you’re upset, and I know it’s probably about that boy of yours—,”

“Not my boy,” Dean said bluntly.

“Whatever,” Ellen said, “I don’t want you here if you need to drink to get through a shift.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of this,” Dean said, exasperated.

“I’ll make as big a deal of it as I want to, thanks,” Ellen said, serious as anything, “You wanna drink all day, you can go home and do it with your daddy.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but took off his apron, tossing it onto the bench.

“Seeya,” he said, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

“Give me that,” she said, reaching for his coffee.

He stared her down for a second before handing it over.

“Sorry,” he said, hating that he’d put that disappointed look on her face.

“Just take care of yourself, kid,” she said, her voice taking on a softer tone. She gave him a pat on the back and sent him on his way.

John didn’t say anything when Dean got home earlier than usual. They just switched on the TV and watched the news until after dark.

  


“We need to talk,” Sam said when he came over that weekend.

“What about,” Dean asked, only half listening as he stared out the window above the sink.

“You,” Sam said, “Ellen said you were drinking on the job. That’s not good, man.”

Dean shrugged. The beginning of this conversation reminded him a lot of a room where the walls pressed slowly inwards, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much.

“It’s not, son,” said John, and where had he come from? Standing in the kitchen doorway like he’d been there all along.

“You’re one to talk,” Dean said.

“I know,” John said, “That’s why Sam and I have been talking.”

John moved into the room slowly, unsure of himself. He sat down at the table with them.

“I set this example for you,” he said, his voice gruff, “And you deserve better than that.”

He deserved better than a lot of what John did, he thought, but he didn’t say anything. Sam looked at their father, and they shared a look that Dean might have found strange if he didn’t feel like his insides had been scraped out and left raw and bleeding.

“We’ve been talking,” Sam said, “And dad has agreed to go to rehab.”

What?

“What?” Dean said, finally pulled out of his pity party.

“I’ve only ever been trying to get by,” John said, placing both hands on the smooth wood of the table top, “And now I see you doing the same thing.”

He trailed off, unable to put what he was thinking into words. Dean watched his face, shadows crossing his eyes. He felt it now more than ever that there was someone missing from this table.

“It’s not the same,” Dean said, and his throat felt sore, his words coming out hoarse.

“You lost someone,” John said, looking at Dean, and his eyes were more alert than they had been in months and that just wound Dean right up.

“No one died,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“No, but it hurts all the same,” John said quietly.

This wasn’t fair, John was the master of repressing and denying his feelings, why couldn’t he just let Dean get on with it? Dean closed his eyes, willing himself to stay calm.

“I’m glad you’re going to rehab, Dad,” he said.

“There is one condition,” John said, looking at him with a steady gaze, “You gotta do rehab too.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

“Debatable,” Sam said, “But he means you have to start taking care of yourself. Hang out with your friends. Go on a date. Try to move on.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Dean demands, looking at Sam with a furrowed brow.

“I think you’ve been wallowing,” Sam said, “And I think you’re not doing yourself any favors. Day drinking? Constant hangovers? You deserve more than to treat yourself like that.”

And what is Dean supposed to say to that? He rubs a hand over his jaw, staring into the middle distance.

“I just,” he paused, taking a breath, “I feel like crap. All the time.”

Sam reached across the table, putting a hand on Dean’s forearm in reassurance.

“I know man. But you got people looking out for you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He put his hand on top of Sam’s for a second and squeezed.

“Alright,” he said, making a move to stand up, “so, you ready to enter the prohibition era?”

John hesitated, looking torn. He took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ll go get my stash.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sam said, leaving the room behind John.

Dean spent the next few minutes getting all the half empty bottles he’d hidden around the kitchen over the last few months. There was a staggering amount of undrunk whiskey. And even more that was missing, long gone in nights of dark sadness. It spoke volumes.

Dean felt a little better, vaguely pleased that his father had decided to go to rehab, seemingly out of the blue. The more he thought about it, the more he reckoned that Lacey Gibson also had a lot to do with it. If John had still been able to hold down a fulltime job, be lucid enough to have friends and an alibi, he wouldn’t have been pulled into this mess. There would be no long history of DUIs and intoxicated violence to drag him into the picture in the first place.

“That’s everything,” John said, walking back into the kitchen with a cardboard box loaded with bottles. Like the ones Dean had found, they were in various states of mostly-consumed. Sam followed shortly after with a box of his own.

“You want to do the honors?” Dean asked picking up the closest bottle to him and loosening the lid.

John reached out for the bottle, and Dean handed it over. They all stood there, silent as John looked at the bottle in his hands, two thirds empty. It went on almost too long, before he took a step forward and tipped the bottle sideways, the honey brown liquid splashing into the sink and rushing down the drain.

John set the empty bottle down on the counter.

“Well,” he said, “You gonna help, or do I have to do all the work around here?”

Dean rolled his eyes a little, smiling as he reached for his own bottle. Within ten minutes, they were surrounded by empty bottles, Dean rinsing the last of the whiskey down the drain.

“Good job, Dad,” Sam said, “We’re proud of you.”

Dean nodded, surveying the forest of glass stretching out around them, covering the counter and most of the table.

“So,” John said, “Sam has arranged a spot for me at a clinic in Kansas City. He’s gonna drive me over there tonight.”

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding again. This was a good thing.

  


It was weird having John gone and actually knowing where he was for once. The house felt empty, bigger than it had in a long time, and Dean tried to stay out as much as possible, much to everyone’s relief.

He started by apologizing to Ellen, giving her a hastily made coupon for eight hours free over time. Ellen pulled him in for a hug, and the next time he came into work, the coupon was sitting in a little frame on her desk. He split his time between hanging out with Charlie, playing video games or going to the movies, eating take-out after work with Jo and Ash, and going over to Michael and Anna’s.

“God, just like that,” Michael said, rolling his hips as Dean fucked into him.

Anna was working late, so Dean had agreed to come over and keep her husband warm for her. Michael was on his back, reclined against the pillows while Dean kneeled between his legs, sliding wet and slick between his cheeks. Michael wasn’t one to play fair though, and he’d filled Dean up with a vibrating plug before they’d started, and it was buzzing away inside of him as he fucked into Michael.

“You feel so good,” Michael moaned, watching Dean’s face intensely.

“Good,” Dean said, smiling at Michael a little, his eyes hooded and his brow damp with sweat.

He liked this, sleeping with Michael and Anna, sometimes together and sometimes apart. He was the novelty to them, so they always made him feel welcome and wanted. He was glad that there were absolutely no strings—he wasn’t sure he could have handled any.

Dean watched as Michael took himself in hand, jerking himself off as Dean’s thrusts grew more erratic. Michael came first, semen spilling out over his fist and across his stomach. He clenched down on Dean, almost rhythmically and Dean followed shortly after, the buzz in his own ass too much to handle along with everything else.

“Fuck,” He said, pulling out gently and collapsing next to Michael, who pulled him in for a kiss.

“That was lovely, Dean,” He said.

Dean smiled against his lips, gently pressing them together.

“Unfortunately I have a conference call with the Australian office in about a half hour, otherwise I’d suggest a second round,” Michael said, smoothing a hand up Dean’s chest, patting it once before sitting up and moving away.

“Oh,” Dean said, “That’s cool, I’ll get going.”

“No rush,” Michael said, smiling at him warmly.

Dean was out the door within ten minutes, his afterglow kind of decimated. He drove aimlessly, knowing that John wasn’t going to be home to sit in uncomfortable, depressing silence with.

He ended up going through the first drive-through he saw, taking his paper bag of greasy fries and burgers home to eat alone in the quiet kitchen. He had to fight with himself to stop from thinking about Cas, and what he might have been doing at that moment. Was he eating a late dinner at home with Dick? Or maybe they were laying on the couch, making out while the TV played in the background. Or they could be tangled up in bed, hot and sweaty, as—Dean cut off his train of thought. There was no point in making himself even more miserable.

  
  


Charlie took him out one Friday night, an early movie and then drinks at a bar downtown.

“Pick someone,” she said, “Anyone here and go talk to them.”

“Can’t I talk to you?” he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“No, you need to go get laid,” Charlie said, her eyes wide, “As hot as that couple is, you need a proper rebound.”

“I don’t need a rebound, Charlie, I’ve been single for the last four years,” he said, sipping his beer.

“Whatever,” she said, waving her hand, “To get over someone, you need to get under someone else, and not as a third in a kinky open marriage.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but agreed she had a point.

“Maybe a nice girl? Take your mind off things entirely?” Charlie suggested, “I can point out the straight ones to you.”

“No,” Dean said, thinking it over, “I want a guy. A big guy. Muscles and a beard kinda thing.”

“Dean Winchester, are you lookin’ to get yourself a bear?” Charlie said, a delighted smile crossing her face.

“Why not?” said Dean, “it’s been a while.”

It didn’t take long, he leaned against the bar and surveyed the room. There were a few interested eyes, both men and women, but they weren’t quite right. Too short, or too lithe, or too young.

His eyes settled on a guy in the back corner. Tall, biceps as thick as trees, blond hair that curled down to his forehead, slender waist and wide shoulders. Dean watched him, and then he looked up, and saw Dean watching him.

Dean held his gaze, feeling heat build inside of him. The guy grabbed his beer and cut through the crowd towards Dean.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth, a nice timbre to it.

“Hi,” Dean said, taking a sip of his own beer. The guy was even more good looking up close, nice brown eyes, and muscles for days, his t-shirt on just the right side of slightly too small.

“You having a good night?” the guy asked.

Dean saw Charlie slip away from the bar, leaving them there alone.

“It’s alright,” Dean said, his eyes boring holes into the guy, “You?”

“Seem’s to be going pretty good,” he said, “You gonna make it better?”

“I hope so,” Dean said, curling his fingers into the hem of the guy’s t-shirt, pulling him closer, “I’m looking for a rebound. Want to take me home and fuck my brains out?”

Dean swore he heard the guy swallow, and then an arm was around his waist, guiding him away from the bar.

“Let’s go,” the guy said, “Now.”

Dean put his beer down on one of the tables they walked past. They paused just by the door, the guy reaching for his coat. Dean got impatient and pulled the guy in for a kiss, hot and urgent. Dean’s lips getting spit slick and swollen in a matter of minutes as they made out by the coat rack, the door opening and closing behind them as people came and went.

They separated, the guy panting into Dean’s mouth, his giant hands sliding over Dean’s hips, keeping their bodies close.

“Okay,” Dean said, “Lead the way.”

The guy turned, and Dean looked up, making eye contact with Cas, who was staring openly at them. The door opened and Dick entered the bar.

“Finally got a parking space babe,” He said to Cas, not having seen Dean yet.

“Come on,” The guy said to Dean, grabbing his jacket in one hand and Dean’s waist in the other.

Dean broke eye contact with Cas, following Muscles out into the night.

“Did you drive?” Dean asked, shaking himself out of his stupor. Cas’s shocked face was still swimming in front of his eyes and Dean felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

“Nah, I live a few blocks from here,” the guy said, leading Dean out of the parking lot.

It was a quick walk, despite the breaks they took to make out, Dean pressed up against a brick wall in the shadows, feeling Muscles grind against him, pushing a thick thigh against his groin. Dean was half hard, still mad at himself for feeling guilty, for thinking of Cas.

Cas had made it clear that he wasn’t leaving Dick, and that was exactly why Dean was where he was, one hand down the back of Muscle Guy’s jeans.

Muscle Guy led him into an apartment building, standing behind him and grinding against Dean’s ass as they waited for the elevator.

He had a nice apartment, clean and kind of tidy. Dean only noticed because he didn’t have to try very hard to not trip over anything on his way into the guy’s bedroom.

Muscles pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, his body covering Dean’s, his hips fitting between Dean’s thighs in all the best ways. Dean could feel his hard cock, denim rubbing on denim as the guy kissed his neck, sucking marks into it, his stubble scraping against Dean’s skin.

Dean reached between them, undoing his pants. Muscles sat up for a second, stripping off his shirt and undoing his own pants, helping Dean with his own layers, lifting his hips to get his pants out from under his ass. Their bare cocks brushed together as Muscles lay back down, and Dean used his feet to work their pants down their legs, kicking them off the end of the bed.

“God,” Muscles said, rolling his hips, “You’re so hot.”

Dean smiled, his eyes roaming over the body on top of him.

“You’re hot,” he said, “I don’t know if I can wait for you to open me up.”

Muscles groaned, and he leaned down kissing Dean with an open mouth. He sat back on his heels kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, his thick cock jutting out in front of him. It wasn’t as thick as Dean had hoped, but it would do for now.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, reclining on the bed as Muscle Guy’s eyes swept over him, drinking in the sight of his naked skin. Dean wrapped a hand loosely around his dick, rubbing it a little, wanting to give Muscles a bit of a show.

“I think this is just fine,” Muscles said, his voice kind of hoarse.

“Good,” Dean said, “Then let’s get to work.”

Muscle Guy scrabbled in the bedside table, coming back with a well-used tube of KY. He squeezed some out into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft as he knelt before Dean.

“Come on,” Dean said, goading him into moving.

Muscles rearranged his knees, laying himself down on top of Dean again. The feeling of being covered by this guy, and his strong, heavy body was enough to make Dean giddy. He had a fist between them, stroking Dean’s cock in the same hand as his own, rubbing them together against the wet heat of his palm. Dean wrapped his arms around the guy’s torso, fingers tracing the lines of muscle, clinging to him as a particularly sweet push was placed against him.

Muscles started thrusting then, his cock sliding alongside Dean’s between the heat of their bodies. Muscles turned his head, kissing Dean, biting at his lips and using his free hand to hike Dean’s leg higher around his waist.

“You’re so big,” Dean murmured against his lips, and it had the desired effect—Muscles groaned, growled almost, into his mouth and started thrusting harder, the friction between them deliciously warm as he worked. Dean moaned, squeezing both legs around Muscle Guy’s hips, tilting himself up to make the best angle for them.

He was so hard, aching and dripping, and Muscles was going for broke, panting in his ear as he fucked against Dean, their hips picking up speed as the good feelings spiralled. Dean could feel precome dripping onto his stomach, and he didn’t know if it was his own or not. It wasn’t wise to stick a stranger’s come in your mouth, or else Dean would have done so the minute they got through the front door.

Muscles was grunting now, rolling his hips in a pattern that had Dean gasping against his neck, placing wet, breathy kisses along the skin there. It felt too good, his whole body at the mercy of the man on top of him and Dean closed his eyes, legs and arms tensing first, followed by everything else as he shuddered, moaning deeply as he came, spurting across Muscle Guy’s fist and his own stomach. Muscles picked up the pace, fucking along Dean’s still hard cock, his tip rubbing through Dean’s release.

“Come on me,” Dean groaned, his throat raw from panting, “Please.”

Muscle Guy’s grip tightened on Dean’s thigh, fist clenching gently around their cocks, and he exhaled harshly against Dean’s neck as he came, spilling hot and fast, his mess joining Dean’s against the sweaty skin of his stomach. Muscles was licking his neck, kissing Dean and breathing hard as his body still had Dean pinned to the bed. Dean’s hips were sore, spread wide for a bit too long, but he lay there still, fingers stroking along Muscle Guy’s shoulders, enjoying the feeling of being under somebody.

“That was amazing,” Muscles said, finally rolling off Dean, pulling them both onto their side’s.

“It was pretty good,” Dean said, running a hand up Muscle Guy’s side, feeling the smooth ridges of his abs, smiling a little as his fingertips rubbed across a hard nipple. His hand continued on to Muscle Guy’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss, deep and slow.

“I’ll get you a washcloth,” Muscles said after a few minutes, lips still touching Dean’s.

Dean was grateful, his abdomen sticky with semen. Muscles got back on the bed, watching Dean clean himself off, eyes roaming Dean’s body. Once he was clean, Dean straddled Muscle Guy’s lap, wrapping arms around his neck, wanting to kiss him one more time before he stood to get dressed.

“We should do this again sometime,” he said, watching Dean pull his trousers on.

“Maybe,” Dean replied, pulling his flannel on over his shirt, “Things are kind of complicated for me right now.”

“They don’t have to be,” Muscles said, and Dean wanted so badly for that to be true.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, grabbing his socks and boots to put on in the hallway.

It had been a nice night, and Dean understood what Charlie meant when she said he needed to have sex with a stranger. He’d had a good time with Muscle Guy, who’d made him feel attractive and wanted. Not that Michael and Anna didn’t do that, but Muscle Guy’s interest had been solely on him. They weren’t performing for anyone but each other.

  


“So,” Charlie said, when she saw him first thing the following morning, “How did it go?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Dean said, winking at her as he tied on his apron.

“Come on,” she said, snapping her cloth at him, “Did you have fun? Do you feel better?”

He didn’t.

“Kind of,” Dean said, leaning on the counter.

“What does that mean,” Charlie said, absentmindedly wiping at the glass on the savories cabinet.

“It means ‘I had a nice time, but things still suck’,” Dean said, scratching at a divot in the countertop with his fingernail, not wanting to look at Charlie.

“Maybe you just need some time,” Charlie offered, “Distance from him.”

“I’ve had so much of both of those things, and it’s never made a lick of difference,” he said bitterly, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Charlie didn’t say anything straight away, letting the idea that he’d never gotten over Cas hang between them like a weight on a string.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, eventually.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, “I don’t know any way to make this better.”

“I think you need to spend time on your own. You’re such a good person, and you don’t treat yourself nicely enough. You’re too hard on yourself,” she said. “Do things you want to do, just for you.”

Dean sighed, rubbing at his chin, “I guess so.”

“Okay, great, so you did the rebound, now you should go on a date. Get on a dating app or something,” Charlie said, smiling at him so earnestly.

“I’m not online dating,” he said, rolling his eyes and huffing a laugh.

“Yes, you are, let’s get you set up on Plenty Of Fish,” Charlie said, pulling her phone out of her apron pocket.

“No.”

“Tinder?” she asked.

“Definitely no,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Alright, that leaves OKCupid, no arguing.”

Dean sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get out of this one.

 

It wasn’t that bad, Dean discovered. He got to list all the things he liked to do and answer questions about himself and look at pictures of hot men and women all day. He got a lot of messages, mostly from couples, or people he was definitely not interested in.

  


Dean made a habit of calling John every other day. He wanted to make sure his dad was doing okay, and that the rehab was sticking.

“ _Yeah, it’s okay here,”_ John had said the first time Dean had phoned him, _“No booze but it’s okay. They have a TV.”_

But Dean could hear the strain in his voice, and he knew John was having a rough time. They had him in special grief counselling after finding one of the root causes of his alcoholism being the loss of his wife. Dean felt miserable, but he sucked it up, knowing John was going through much worse.

_“Another four weeks,”_ John said, _“And then they’re talking about moving me into a halfway house.”_

Dean was relieved that he wouldn’t have to baby-sit his father fresh out of rehab, although he felt guilty about it all the same. John needed more than Dean had to offer right now, and it was best for everyone if he stayed in the care of professionals until he could manage himself better. He’d said he was going to be going to the local AA meeting, which filled Dean with warm hope that maybe things would work out for the Winchesters.

  


As it got closer and closer to Lacey Gibson’s sixteenth birthday, the media circus set up camp in Michigan, waiting for news of her arrival. All the courts had been put on notice not to issue a marriage license to anyone that fit her description without notifying police. Dean wasn’t sure why they bothered. If he were in their situation, he would have scrapped the Michigan plan the minute it was announced to the public.

The televised pleas from her parents had turned into them assuring her that they weren’t mad, they just wanted her to come home safe.

“Pretty fucked up, huh,” Dean said, only half paying attention to the news coverage. OkCupid could be pretty entertaining.

“Yeah,” Sam said, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, “Bela’s not taking it well.”

“Oh,” Dean said, finally looking up from his phone, “Is she alright?”

“For the most part,” Sam said with a sigh so deep that his shoulders sagged, “The assholes blaming it on this poor kid, saying she’s leading this guy around. Thinking that she’s masterminding the whole situation, as though child grooming doesn’t exist.”

Sam shrugged, rubbing at his brow with one hand.

“Yeah, they’re pretty quick to villainize a little girl,” Dean said, frowning.

“She’s coping okay, it’s all just a little too close to home,” Sam said.

“Well, they’ll find her soon. Victor said they’re leaving tracks all over the place, it can’t be long now,” Dean replied, turning back to the TV. He decided to change the subject, “How’s the wedding planning going?”

Sam muted the news, smiling a little.

“It’s good,” he said, “I didn’t expect it, but Bela had a big list of things she’d already decided on. It was very sweet.”

“She’s full of surprises,” Dean said, grinning at Sam, grabbing his soda from the table. He’d decided to cut out alcohol entirely, knowing that the house would be dry from now on.

“Sure is,” Sam said, playing with the ring on his finger. Dean supposed he was still getting used to wearing it all the time, “What about you?”

Dean swallowed his soda and raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“What about me?” he asked, more than a little confused.

“Have you met anyone recently?” Sam asked, his brows pinched together.

Dean shrugged, looking away from him.

“Charlie’s got me set up on a dating app,” He said, “But I’m not really into it.”

“You should give it a go, Dean. It’ll be good for you to get out there.”

Dean chewed his lip, staring into the middle distance.

“Dean?” Sam prompted him for a response.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Dean said quietly, shrugging again.

Sam sighed, sitting forward in his seat, and Dean knew he was about to be reasoned with.

“Look,” Sam said, “I’m sorry I invited him to the barbeque, that was a mistake. And I get that this must really fucking suck, I can’t even imagine how bad. But you need to let go now. He’s with someone else, and it doesn’t look like he’s leaving that person. You need to look after yourself, and pining after him like this is going to have you following in dad’s footsteps.”

Sam’s voice was gentle and his words were earnest, but they hurt Dean all the same. Dean closed his eyes, bowing his head to give himself a second to think, to try not to cry.

Later that night, long after Dean had given up trying to sleep, he tried to be honest with himself. He felt like no amount of years could dull the ache in his heart, his burning need for Castiel. Whether he’d ever truly given up hope that Cas would come to him, he wasn’t sure. He’d been so certain, when he was young, that Cas was the only person he would ever—He wasn’t going to cry, not now. Not alone in the small hours of the morning in his childhood home while the man he wanted was in someone else's arms, someone else’s heart.

Sam was right, he decided, it was time to move on.

  


Dean didn’t actually try very hard, but he didn’t tell Sam that. He set up a few dates that he cancelled last minute, and spent another night at that bar to see if Muscles would show up. He didn’t.

It didn’t help that close to three weeks after their conversation, when he was sitting at home brooding on a Saturday night, he got a call from Cas. They hadn’t spoken in close to three months, and Dean nearly swallowed his tongue when he read the name on the display.

He didn’t know whether to answer or not. He dithered, unsure of himself, but eventually his desire to hear Castiel’s voice won out, and he accepted the call.

“Hello?” he said, his voice tentative.

_“Dean,”_ Cas said, his end of the calling sounding very loud, _“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I really need your help.”_

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked immediately.

_“The faucet in the kitchen has broken, and there’s water spraying everywhere,”_ Cas said.

“Okay, you need to turn off the water supply, do you know where the main valve is?” Dean asked, relieved it was only a plumbing emergency.

_“I tried that,”_ Cas said, _“It’s stuck.”_

“Okay,” Dean said, trying to think of a solution.

_“I can’t find the tool box and there’s water all over the kitchen. I don’t know what to do!”_ Cas said, sounding a little hysterical.

“It’s okay,” Dean said, “I’ll bring mine right over, we can get this fixed up.”

He knew he shouldn’t have promised that, but he couldn’t help himself. Half of him wanted to run to Cas, while the other half reminded him of the conversation he’d had with Sam.

It was a twenty minute drive to the pretty house on the corner of Lance and Maple, but Dean got there in fifteen. He parked in the empty driveway, grabbing his tools from the back seat before making his way quickly up the path. He tried the front door, which turned out to be unlocked.

He could hear water gushing and followed the sound — there Cas was, standing over the sink with slumped shoulders, holding a bucket over the broken faucet.

“Hey,” he said, voice raised to counter the sound of rushing water hitting metal at high speed.

“Dean,” Cas said, sounding so relieved. His shirt was soaked and clinging to him, and he looked a little like he’d wet his pants, “I can’t get the main to turn off, it’s really old and rusted.”

Dean nodded, reminded straight away that this was nothing more than an off duty handyman job.

“It’s in the linen closet, down in the laundry room by the garage,” Cas said, pointing down the hall with his chin.

Dean strode out of the room without saying a word. Cas only called him because he knew how to fix stuff, and that was okay. That was literally his job. It was nearly midnight, and an emergency plumber would cost a fortune. Cas was smart to call him.

He found the cupboard with the main valve, the door hanging open, revealing the pipes inside, dusty and covered in cobwebs. Cas was right about one thing, the valve was a real bitch to turn, stiff with rust and disuse, the handle wobbling dangerously as though it could snap off at a moment’s notice. Dean grabbed his smallest crescent wrench, and secured it around the valve, gripping it tightly before slowly turning the handle.

It took a good few seconds, the better part of a minute, but he eventually got it closed, the sound of flowing water trailing off as he made progress.

“Thank you,” Cas said when Dean returned to the kitchen, “It’s been going for forty-five minutes and I didn’t know what to do.”

“S’okay,” Dean said, shrugging one shoulder. Cas was drenched, hair curling across his forehead, droplets of water adorning the hair on his arms up to his elbows, where the rolled up sleeves of his overshirt were darkened and damp.

Cas was looking at him, hands dripping water onto the tile floor of the kitchen.

“So,” He said, “What do I do now?”

Dean looked at him for a second longer. Cas really was beautiful, he thought. He blinked the thought away, stepping towards the sink, his eyes averted.

“I’ll see if I can fix the problem,“ He said, his voice gruff, “But most likely the tap itself is broken and you’ll need a new part, in which case I’ll just turn the water off to the sink so that you can have running water until we can get a replacement.”

“Okay,” Cas said, nodding. He was standing too close, and Dean couldn’t focus.

He crouched down in front of the sink, looking into the open cupboard underneath. He checked the pipes, making sure all the nuts and washers were in the right place. He didn’t notice at first, but Cas was sitting on the ground next to him, legs crossed with his hands in his lap, watching Dean work.

Dean had to get on his back at some point, head tucked under the sink as he looked for the problem. Cas stayed where he was, and Dean felt eyes on him but he didn’t dare look at Cas, afraid to catch his eye.

“Thank you for doing this, Dean,” Cas said, fingers running along the seams of his jeans.

“It’s nothing,” Dean said.

It wasn’t. It was everything. It cost him so much to be here, when he was already so weak.

He sat up eventually, elbows propped up on his bent knees.

“You’ll need a new faucet,” He said, looking at his hands, “But you can turn the water on again, I’ve blocked the flow to the sink.”

“Okay,” Cas said, taking the crescent wrench from Dean.

Dean watched Cas disappear into the hallway, standing up to clean his hands off on a dishrag. He needed to get out of there, his chest was already starting to ache due to prolonged exposure. He turned, and started mopping up the water from the counter, just for something to do. There really was a lot of water everywhere.

“Thanks,” said Cas from just behind him, placing the crescent wrench on the counter next to Dean.

Dean turned his head, and there Cas was, barely a couple of inches between them.

“No problem,” he said, his voice quiet. Cas’s eyes searched his face and he didn’t know what to do with how that made him feel, how his stomach twisted at the thought of it.

Dean lowered his eyes, hoping to break the tension, but Cas’s wet shirt was now his focus and he could see the outline of his torso, the dark blue fabric clinging to his faint muscles. Dean’s breath hitched.

Cas took a step forward.

“I know this is out of line,” he said, voice as quiet as Dean’s, one hand reaching out to touch Dean, “But I didn’t like seeing you with that man the other night.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Castiel’s, and he frowned, “How do you think I feel?” he said, suddenly feeling too raw and exposed to hold it in.

“Was that Michael?” Cas asked him, pressing forward.

“No,” Dean said, “I don’t know who that was, I just, I needed—,” He cut himself off, frustration mounting, “You told me to go, so I did. What I do after that is none of your business.”

“I know,” Cas said, eyes still locked on Dean. His fingers were dragging lightly on the sleeve of Dean’s shirt, tightening in the fabric, keeping Dean there in front of him, “I know.”

Dean felt trapped, by Cas’s hand, his gaze.

“You keep saying—” He scrambled for an out, stumbling over the words, “You keep telling me to go, that this is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Cas said, and his eyes shone, boring into Dean’s, “It never was.”

Dean couldn't breathe. What—what was he saying? Cas’s hands were on his neck then, cold from the water as they pulled him forward, one sliding up to caress his face, a thumb running across his cheekbone. Dean couldn’t help himself and turned his face into the touch, eyes closed, scared that every second ticking by brought them nearer to the moment that Cas would realize what he was doing.

“I’ve treated you badly,” Cas said, his voice soft, and he sounded so near but Dean didn’t dare open his eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“You didn’t know,” Dean whispered, bowing his head enough that he felt his forehead touch Castiel’s. His hands were clutching the damp hem of Cas’s shirt, like it was his only lifeline.

“I should have come to you,” Cas said, the tip of his nose touching Dean’s, so soft.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Dean said, his whole body wound tight, the immensity of the moment not lost on him.

He felt it then, the gentle press of Castiel’s lips to his, a reversal, an echo of a kiss shared long ago. His hands tightened into fists in the fabric of Cas’s shirt as he was held close, so close and kissed so softly.

“Can you forgive me?” Cas said, so quietly that Dean only knew he was talking because he felt the words against his lips.

“Yes,” He breathed out, voice just as low, “Yeah, Cas. Of course.”

And then Cas was kissing him again, more insistently, lips moving against his in ways that Dean had only ever dreamed about. One hand was cradling the back of his head and Dean wanted to stay in that moment for the rest of his life.

“I want you,” Cas whispered to him, “So desperately.”

“You can have me,” Dean said, their lips brushing together as he spoke, their hands together against his cheek. Cas pushed him then, gently, so that his back was to the pantry doors. Dean's heart fluttered in his throat as he went where Cas willed him, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

It was too much for Dean to take, so he leaned in again, a warm press of lips, a soft sigh.

Cas pushed at his t-shirt, sliding it up his torso, pressing a kiss to his neck and Dean inhaled sharply. He shrugged off his flannel, yanking the t-shirt over his head so that he stood in front of Cas, skin bared.

Cas ran his hands along Dean’s torso, drinking in the sight. He pulled at Dean again, a hand at the small of his back. Dean went where he was told, hips lifting away from the doors, lining up with Cas’s. Cas had his hands on Dean’s waist, and Dean couldn’t think of anything less fair than Cas still being covered up. His fingers fumbled, sliding on the wet buttons at the front of Cas’s shirt, struggling to pull the damp fabric away from his body. His forehead was resting against Cas’s and they were both breathing heavily as Dean pushed the shirt back over Castiel’s shoulders, feeling the strength in them, at long last knowing how they felt under his hands.

“Kiss me again,” he murmured, and Cas obliged, arms around Dean, pulling him in close, the heat between them building. Dean felt a hand trail down his thigh and it was electric. His need heightened. He wanted Cas so badly he could hardly breathe, he felt dizzy with it, like he could very well die happily right where he was.

Dean’s lips felt swollen from the pressure and push-pull of kissing, but he clung to Cas all the same, hands on his face, his chest, his back, pushing down below his waistline and following the curve of his ass.

Dean was so hard already that he would have been embarrassed had he not been able to feel Cas’s own length nudging at his hip. Then he remembered where they were.

Dean reached up, and took one of Castiel’s hands in his, trying to put some space back between them. It wasn’t lost on him that they were standing in the middle of the kitchen that Cas shared with another man. The silence was palpable.

“Cas,” He said, voice cracking. hesitated, feeling awkward. Where was Dick in all of this? “We shouldn’t...”

Cas sighed, his hand slipping from Dean’s body, “Did we miss our chance?” He asked, his sad eyes focused on Dean in a way that made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s not that, I just—Is your boyfriend around?” He asked, his voice a blunt instrument that shattered the magic of the moment.

Cas looked at him, taking a moment.

“I don’t want to think about him,” Cas said eventually, and his hand reached forward again, moving slowly over Dean’s skin.

“Clearly.” Dean said, turning his face away from Cas, staring over his shoulder, “Is this just going to be a one time thing?” he asked, heart racing as he voiced his fears.

“I hope not,” Cas said, still looking at Dean.

Dean sighed, slumping back against the wood.

“He’s out of town, Dean. I can’t do anything until he gets back,” Cas said, his hands firm on Dean’s hips.

“So what, I’m your side piece until you feel like making a decision?” Dean said, his voice taking on a hard edge to hide the growing panic inside of him.

“Dean,” Cas said, looking alarmed, “No, of course not,” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, “I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

“So you’re happy to just casually cheat on your boyfriend?” Dean asked, eyeing Cas warily.

“So are you,” Cas replied as he leaned away from Dean slightly.

Dean huffed a breath, indignant.

“No I’m not,” he said, turning to face Cas, “There is no one else for me, Cas. Is this what you think is happening? We’re both running behind people’s backs for some casual fun?”

Cas stared at him then, his brow creased.

“No,” he said, as though Dean was missing something, “I want you.”

Dean’s heart soared, getting ahead of him. He swallowed, needing a moment to process.

“And Dick?” he asked, his heart fluttering once again.

“He won’t be home until they find that girl. I don’t want to break up with him over the phone,” Cas said, looking miserable.

“We can’t do this until it’s over with him,” Dean said, his voice gentle.

“I know,” Cas said, looking up at him, “You’re right. I’m sorry. For making us dishonest.”

“He wrote that shit about my mom, don’t feel too bad,” Dean said, smiling a little.

Cas smiled back at him, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

“What about that blond guy from the other night,” He asked, “You said that wasn’t Michael?”

Dean looked away then, feeling a little ashamed of himself.

“Right,” he started, fiddling with one of the loops on Castiel’s jeans, not able to meet his eye, “He was just some guy. Everyone was saying I needed a rebound.”

“You and the real Michael broke up?” Cas asked, not managing to sound as sorry as he had probably intended.

“No, a rebound for you,” Dean said to Castiel’s chest, heat rising in his cheeks. He let his hands drop back to his sides, “Michael is a guy I met at a bar. He and his wife like to take turns fucking me. It’s nothing serious.”

“Do you want to keep seeing them?” Cas asked, his voice sounding small.

“No,” Dean said, looking up at Cas.

“Okay,” Cas said, smiling at him, “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

Dean smiled back, feeling warm inside.

“So you’re leaving Dick, huh?” Dean said, straightening his shoulders again.

“Yeah,” Cas said, following suit.

“Because of me?” Dean asked, taking a sick kind of pleasure from the idea.

“Mostly,” Cas said, musing over the idea, “He wasn’t always such an asshole. It was suddenly so obvious when I saw him standing next to you.”

“Not as pretty,” Dean said jokingly, winking at Cas.

Cas smiled, hand reaching across the small space between them to take Dean’s.

“He didn’t measure up at all,” Cas said, his voice soft.

Dean couldn’t help but to lean in, kissing Cas, slow and sweet.

“What do you think he’ll say when he finds out you left him for someone younger and better looking?” Dean said, and Cas hit his arm, trying not to laugh.

“I kind of cheated on him,” he whispered, “We can’t joke about that.”

“We can a little,” Dean said, fighting a smile.

“You’re bad,” Cas said as he swayed into Dean once more, pressing warm kisses along his jawline.

“You’re the adulterer,” Dean said, running his fingers lightly up and down Cas’s back.

“God,” Cas replied, his head dropping onto Dean’s shoulder, “I know. I’m just as much of an asshole as he is. I guess we deserve each other.”

Dean nuzzled the hair behind Castiel’s ear, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “I don’t think there exists a universe where he deserves you,” He said.

Cas kissed him again, slow and deep.

“Come on,” he said eventually, “We need to stop now, or we never will.”

“I’m struggling to see a problem,” Dean said, catching Cas’s lips again, sucking on the bottom one gently as they kissed.

“We gotta do something wholesome.” Cas whispered against his mouth, pressing lips against his one last time.

Dean rolled his eyes, but let Cas pull away from him

“Okay,” he said, offering Cas a small smile, “So when Dick gets back and you tell him it’s over... You call me.”

“Deal,” Cas replied, squeezing Dean’s hand gently, “I promise you.”

They stood like that for a long moment, taking in the quiet peace between them, fingers curled together sweetly, reluctant to let the evening end.

“I should go,” Dean said finally, breaking the silence.

“Thank you for coming over,” Castiel said, his thumb rubbing slow circles against Dean’s skin, not yet letting go of him.

“It’s no problem. But I really should get home,” Dean said, “Gotta call my dad early tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Cas said, smiling at him from the doorway, “I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay,” Dean repeated, packing up his toolbox, his hand already missing Castiel’s, his body feeling cold after the heat between them had dissipated. He pulled his shirts back on, the front slightly damp from where he’d been pressed close to Cas, who was still soaked.

He stood with Cas in the foyer, sharing another long look with him, a look loaded with all sorts of want and tension. He murmured his goodbyes, and leaned into Cas’s touch against his elbow as he passed over the threshold. Dean was aware of Cas, standing on the porch watching him as he started the car up. He gave one last wave to Castiel before he pulled away from the curb, pointing her towards home.

He went straight to bed, trying not to indulge too much in what may or may not happen.

  
  


Dean still felt giddy the next morning. He wasn’t sure this feeling would ever wear off. He fought the smile on his face the whole time he was on the phone to John, not wanting to let himself get too far gone, knowing that if things did not come to pass, it would hurt more than he could bear.

_“—with less than a month to go, now.”_ John was saying.

“That’s great, Dad,” Dean replied, fiddling with the tie of his apron as he sat in the back room at Ellen’s, listening his father talk about rehab, “Are you feeling good?”

_“Yeah. Kind of. It’s hard, you know how it is. But I’m thinking it’s gonna work out okay.”_

“That’s good,” Dean said, only half listening. He was struggling with all the good news that was suddenly falling into his lap after years of being shit on from a great height by the universe.

_“It is, huh.”_ John let the silence stretch between them, _“Look, I gotta go. Got a group thing in a couple of minutes.”_

“Sure,” Dean smiled into the receiver, “Me too, shift starts soon. I’ll talk to you later.”

_“Bye, Dean.”_

“Seeya.” Dean said, ending the call and tucking his phone into his pocket.

“Dean?” Charlie called from the store-front.

“Coming,” Dean said, checking himself one last time in the staff mirror before heading out to the counter, “What’s up?” He said.

“Look at this,” Charlie said, shoving her tablet in front of him.

“What—?” Dean’s sentence trailed off into nothing. It was a news article, with a picture of Lacey Gibson right below the headline, “Oh my god...” Dean whispered.

There was a video attached to the article, claiming to have been sent to the police and the media by friend’s of Lacey’s who had seen her on instagram live late the night before. Right around when Dean was at Castiel’s house.

He tapped the video, willing it to buffer quickly so that it would play.

_“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would get this out of hand. I just want to go home, please. I miss my mom and dad. I don’t want to get married anymore, I’m so scared and I want—”_

Then the screen goes dark and blurry, scuffling sounds and static covering any other audio. The video ended abruptly.

“Holy shit,” Dean said, looking over at Charlie, “So he’s just straight-up kidnapping her now?”

“Well,” Charlie said, pulling the tablet closer to her, “Technically he’s been a kidnapper this whole time.”

“True,” Dean replied, thinking over what he just watched, “How long ago do you think she ‘changed her mind’? I wonder if that’s a new development for her, or if he slipped up finally and she got near a phone.”

“God, for her own sake I hope it’s a recent development. That poor kid,” Charlie said, looking down at the screen, flicking to a different article, and then to a twitter feed that was posting updates in real time.

“I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad my dad’s name was cleared,” Dean mumbled, ashamed of the relief that flooded him whenever he thought about Lacey Gibson.

“It’s not selfish,” Charlie said, bumping her elbow against his, “It’s a horrific thing, and not wanting to be involved is completely understandable. You’ve got enough going on as it is.”

Dean hummed his agreement, absentmindedly re-arranging the stack of napkins by the cash register. The cafe was completely empty, which meant his shift was going to drag on.

“Speaking of, we should do something fun. It feels like ages since we hung out.” Charlie said, slipping her tablet back into the drawer below the counter.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “We should go see a movie or something.”

“Okay,” Charlie grinned at him as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, excitement radiating from her, “I’ll see what’s on. Maybe we can do a double feature!”

“Sounds good, Charlie. I’m down for anything.” Dean said, turning to look out the window. He was having trouble with the slow days now that he had something to look forward to.

 

It all hinged on Lacey Gibson, he mused. When she was found, he and Cas could be together, unless Dick came back to town early, which Cas had said was unlikely. But the man-hunt had been going for the better part of a year now, and Dean felt himself reverting back to his old ways—needing Cas like he needed sunshine, or coffee in the morning. He was so close now, so close to what he’d always wanted, but he had to wait a little longer.

Dean was good at taking hints from the universe, and tried to be patient. He volunteered for extra shifts at Ellen’s, working overtime with Jo and Ash. John was allowed visits now, so Dean drove out almost every other day to sit with his father and talk, forging ahead through awkward silences and excruciating small talk.

“So they’re saying I’ll be home a little after Halloween,” John said to him one afternoon, when they were sitting in a pair of old but comfortable arm chairs in the visitation center.

“That’s good,” Dean replied, looking at his father. He still wasn’t used to seeing his father so healthy looking—his face was less puffy, his eyes less bloodshot. He’d picked up a few nervous ticks as a result of the withdrawal, but he seemed to be in a good mood otherwise.

“Sam wants to have a thing,” John said, staring blankly at the carpet.

“A thing? I don’t know what that means, Dad,” Dean said, his brow furrowing.

“A thing, like a dinner thing,” John replied, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the arm of the chair, “When I get back.”

“Oh,” Dean said, “Sure. Sounds good.”

“It’s not too close to Thanksgiving?” John said, finally meeting Dean’s eye.

“Who cares. I think it’s worth a celebration.” Dean said, smiling a little. It didn’t need to be be a huge thing, but it would be good to do something, to break bread as it were, to underline the _new beginning_ feeling that his life was taking on. It would be nice.

“Ok” John said, with a small, tentative smile of his own.

 

Dean invited his brother over that Sunday for pot roast, He wasn’t sure how to bring it up with Sam, considering their last conversation about the subject, but Dean was sure that he needed Cas there for that dinner. If it was a beginning of things, he wanted Cas beside him.

“So who all's coming?” He asked, pushing the kale salad he’d made to butter Sam up around his plate.

“The usual suspects,” Sam said, shoveling kale into his mouth at an alarming rate, “Us, Bela. Bobby and Ellen, Jo and Ash. Charlie. Victor, if you want some extra moral support.”

“I was thinking about Cas, actually,” Dean said, finally biting the bullet.

Sam looked up sharply.

“What?” He asked, carefully setting down his fork, “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I do,” Dean said, already feeling defensive.

“Dean, two months ago we agreed you were going to try to—you know, move past this,” Sam replied, awkwardly gesturing at Dean, as if that were supposed to clarify which _this_ he was referring to.

“Look, things change, okay? We’ve been talking—”

“Dean.”

“You don’t need to sound so disapproving okay, things are different now. I want him there for moral support. This is important to me.”

“Okay,” Sam said apprehensively, resting his forearms on the table, “I just—are you sure? You were so cut up after fourth of July.”

“Whatever,” Dean waved him off, “It’s fine now, okay? We’re fine. I want to bring him to dinner.”

Dean turned his attention back to his plate, feeling his cheeks heat up. He supposed he’d have to tell Sam soon enough, but part of him was still worried, anxious about the tenuous nature of this new thing he had.

What if Lacey Gibson was never found? What if Dick came back and Cas changed his mind? Dean worked hard to keep those thoughts locked up tight in a box, tucked away in a dusty corner of his brain, but still they gnawed at him.

Dean reasoned with himself — He was going to invite Cas to this dinner, and if Cas said yes, then that was a good thing, and Dean should be pleased about it. He hoped Cas would agree to come. It wouldn’t be much of a symbolic new beginning of their relationship if Cas wasn’t actually there. He shoved the thoughts back again. If things went badly, then they went badly. That’s the way it was, and it was about as much as he deserved, he decided.

He put off actually asking Cas for another week, picking up his phone to make the call four or five times before changing his mind again, deciding that it wasn’t quite time yet. Eventually, he brought it up after Cas called him first, deciding in the moment to just spit it out.

“So, do you think you’ll come?” He asked, leaning on the kitchen counter as he made macaroni for dinner.

_“Of course I will,”_ Cas said, _“Just text me the date and what I need to bring.”_

“You don’t need to bring anything,” Dean said, stirring a wooden spoon through the pot.

_“No, of course I’ll bring something. The usual gift is wine but I think, in these circumstances—,”_ he paused, sounding unsure of himself.

Dean smiled into the receiver, picturing the worried expression on the other end of the line.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he said, and then more softly, “I just want you there.”


	6. Chapter 6

When John was discharged from rehab, Dean was there to pick him up. He leaned against the driver-side door, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, while he fought back an overwhelming wave of anxiety—that this wouldn’t work, that his father’s newly found sobriety would last a day or two and then he’d take off again, drinking his way across the midwest. It was for that reason exactly that a halfway house had been arranged, but Dean knew that wouldn’t stop John if he wanted to go. 

“Hey,” Dean greeted him.

“Hey yourself,” John replied. 

“You ready to go?” Dean straightened and reached to open the car door. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” John let out a sigh and shrugged one shoulder as he rounded the hood of the car. 

“Well, there are a few hours before people start coming over, so you can rest up if you need to.” Dean said, turning the key in the ignition. 

It was a quiet drive home—John had his window rolled down despite the early November chill in the air. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as John sat, seemingly content, with wind blowing through his hair and what could be a smile on his face. 

The afternoon passed slowly, and Dean spent it in the kitchen. People trickled in over time, Jo and Ash walked in as he checked the temperature of the lasagna, Charlie bounced in with a vegan pumpkin pie that she explained was ‘practice’ for Thanksgiving, and Ellen appeared behind him with a bowl of pasta salad and a marginally uncomfortable looking Bobby. 

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said, taking the bowl before greeting her with a hug. 

“No problem, kid,” Ellen replied as she patted his back with a firm hand.

Cas arrived last, looking as apprehensive as Dean felt. 

“Hey,” Dean greeted him, voice soft in the entryway where it was just the two of them. 

“Hey,” Cas said, and then he smiled at Dean and everything fell into perspective again. 

“It’s good to see you,” Dean said, before he could stop himself, the words coming out in a rush of breath as he swayed further into Castiel’s personal space. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Cas said, almost suggestively, and Dean swore Cas had looked at him from under his lashes like that on purpose. While Dean could recognize when someone was flirting with him, it was foreign to have that person be Cas. He swallowed as Cas brushed past him into the house, clearly heading for the kitchen. 

He’d forgotten, he supposed, that Cas had once spent almost every afternoon in this house with him. The Cas he saw now, the one who looked at him the way he’d always dreamed of, seemed so far away from the boy he’d known before. 

They sat next to each other during dinner, and Dean was thankful that the room was crowded, meaning he couldn’t help but shift a little too close to Cas, their thighs brushing together under the table. Dean chastised himself—he knew he was losing track of what was being said by who, distracted by the heat of Cas next to him, but he was struggling to focus on anything else. He could feel Sam’s gaze on him, ever watchful, and he caught Charlie’s eye one too many time for it to be a coincidence. 

He was grateful that John seemed to be a little too self conscious about the occasion and didn’t notice Dean tucked away with Cas at the other end of the room. At some point, after dinner was finished and while dessert was still a few minutes away, Cas took his hand under the table, squeezing it gently against his own palm. Dean’s breath hitched at the pressure, and he turned his head towards Cas. 

“It’s going really well,” Cas murmured to him, his small smile reassuring. 

Dean nodded, gripping Cas’s hand tighter for a second, before they both let go. He took a moment to look around the room, taking in the sight in front of him. His fully sober father, his recently engaged brother. Friends and loved ones. He remembered the days after his mother died, remembered thinking that he’d never have a whole family again, and yet here they were. Right in front of him, what his family could be like. 

He’d always said that these people were like family to him, but somewhere along the line, the simile had dropped away. He had an Aunt Ellen and an Uncle Bobby, two cousins in Jo and Ash. Charlie was the sister he never asked for but loved dearly, and now Bela was joining the family. His stomach did a weird flip as he added on  _ ‘and Cas,’ _ before reminding himself that nothing was set in stone just yet. 

But at least he knew now, for certain, that if things went south, he wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces by himself. 

  
  


On his way out, Sam shot him a look that clearly said,  _ ‘we’re talking about this later,’ _ which Dean pretended not to see, and then he summoned every ounce of willpower he had not to kiss Cas goodbye when he walked him out to his car. 

“Alright,” Dean said, as he stood on the porch next to his father while they waved off Bobby and Ellen, “You got everything you need all packed?” 

“Guess so,” John said, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, “We better hit the road.”

“Sure, I’ll get my keys,” Dean said, turning towards the front door. 

“And, uh... Thanks,” John added, a bit awkwardly, “This was nice, son.” 

Dean smiled at him. It was. 

  
  


After that night, something shifted for Dean. He had real things to look forward to, things of substance instead of vague plans about a big bratwurst at the Ren Fair, or three days off in a row. His dad called him every day, an unspoken agreement between them to try and keep on the same page. He knew a similar arrangement with Sam, but they didn’t really talk about it. What Sam did tell him is that he and Bela had picked a date for the wedding—April 20th, the year after next. 

Jo also had good news, informing him one day at work that she and Ash had started  _ ‘banging way more romantic now’, _ which was something Dean never knew he didn’t need to ever hear until he heard it. 

He’d sent Michael and Anna a message saying he’d have to put things on pause for now, and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be able to see them again. They both wished him well, saying they’d keep their fingers crossed for him. 

He still texted Cas everyday, but they usually did a good job of keeping things business casual and above board—though he missed Cas like an ache in his soul, so sometimes they slipped up. It was a few days before Thanksgiving when they met up for a beer at a sports bar downtown, six blocks from Castiel’s office. They sat at a table, keeping an appropriate amount of space between them while they talked, sharing long glances over their beer bottles as an undercurrent of longing flowed palpably between them. 

“We always talk about my work,” Cas said to him, “Tell me about your work.” 

“My work is minimum wage unskilled labour and about fifty shades of boring, so I’ll spare you the details,” Dean replied, ending his sentence with a pull from his bottle. 

“I still want to hear about it,” Cas said, and while his words sounded casual, he’d turned those eyes of his onto Dean, looking all soft and sweet, and good lord, who was Dean to deny that face anything it asked for? 

Dean shifted, slightly uncomfortable in his seat, and in his own skin. Cas already knew he was unaccomplished and didn’t really have a career, so to speak; he needed to let go of the idea that Cas would find out who he really was. He couldn’t think of anyone who knew him better than the man in front of him. They had tuned back into each other’s wavelengths as though no time had passed. 

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Dean said, somewhat stilted in his telling of the story of who Charlie had hit on that day by writing her number on their cup. He was up to the part when they called her, thinking it was the number for a dry cleaner, when someone shouted across the din of the bar to be quiet. 

“Turn it up,” yelled the same voice. 

Dean shifted in his seat to see what was going on and, one by one, all the flat screens mounted to the walls switched from some football game to a news channel. Showing Lacey Gibson’s face, with a breaking news headline. He felt it when Cas reached for his hand seemingly on impulse, and he held on tight. He hoped that she was alive, but also just wanted for it to be over. The whole ordeal had somehow become intertwined with his life, and it felt like his chance at happiness with Cas hinged on this ending once and for all, whether the outcome was good or bad. 

“Oh my god,” Cas said, and Dean could barely hear him over the uproar from the other patrons, “Dean, they’ve found her.” 

And they had. There was a thirty second loop of footage of Lacey being shepherded into a SWAT truck outside a Motel 6, which the news ticker said was in Reno. 

“It’s over,” Dean said, mostly to himself. Another burst of footage showed a man in handcuffs, being pulled from the same room and shoved into an armoured van. He’d known this whole time that it hadn’t been his father, but actually seeing them arrest someone else eased a tension inside of him that he hadn’t known was still there. 

“Dean,” Cas tugged at his arm until he turned around again. 

“It’s over,” Dean said again, louder this time, so that Cas could hear him. Cas was smiling too, holding Dean’s hand in both of his own. 

“It’s time,” Cas said, bringing Dean’s knuckles up to his lips and kissing them once, a barely there press of his lips, “We’re so close now.” 

Just then, Castiel’s phone started vibrating on the table, a call coming through and lighting up the screen. 

“It’s Dick,” Cas said, looking torn. 

“You should take it,” Dean said, gently pulling his hand away from Cas, “You should talk to him.” 

Cas nodded, as though to reassure himself, before standing and grabbing his coat, meaning to take the call outside. Dean followed after him, leaving a tip and wrapping himself up in his own jacket. Unease began to set in, and he tried to shake away its grip—things were fine. This was a good thing. 

“Yeah,” He heard Cas say as he exited the bar, “Yeah, I just saw on the news. What a relief.”

A pause. Dean leaned one shoulder against the brick, watching as Cas’s nose turned pink in the chilly air, his brow pulled into a frown. 

“So when are you coming back?” Cas asked, fiddling with the button on one of his pockets, “Day after tomorrow? I’ll be out of town... I made plans with my parents for Thanksgiving because you said you wouldn’t be here.”

Another pause. Dean crossed his arms against the cold. 

“No, I can’t cancel. You can fly straight there if you want,” Cas rolled his eyes, “I don’t care that you hate my brother, Richard. I’m not cancelling plans that I’ve had for weeks because suddenly they’re inconvenient for you.” 

Cas sounded exasperated. He moved towards Dean and leaned against the wall next to him, mirroring his position. 

“Then I guess we’re fighting. Let me know when you get to the house,” He snapped, ending the call and shoving his phone into his coat pocket. 

They stood together for a moment, only a few inches in between them as Cas collected himself. 

“You okay?” Dean asked, reaching a hand out to snag Castiel’s sleeve in his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Cas replied, moving forward into Dean’s space, resting his own hands on Dean’s hips, running them up under the canvas of his jacket—which Dean suspected was more for Cas’s benefit than his own, “I won’t see him until next Monday.” 

“Well that’s okay,” Dean said, resting his forehead against Cas’s. 

“I know,” Cas sighed, “I guess I just always pictured this moment differently. They would find Lacey Gibson, and then he’d come here straight away so that I could end things and then I’d take you home and make love to you all night in celebration.” 

Dean felt his cheeks flush, and heat pooled in his stomach. 

“Oh,” He managed, swallowing thickly, not able to get the image of them together out of his mind. 

“Am I allowed to say that?” Cas asked him, “I just want to call you mine, and I can’t yet. It’s very frustrating.” 

“I’ll bet,” Dean said weakly, reeling a little at Cas’s words, “We’re really doing this, huh?” 

Cas looked up at him, studying his expression closely. “You don’t want to?” He said, his grip tightening on Dean’s waist. 

“Of course I do,” Dean said, forcing the words out, “I guess I thought that maybe—you know, what if you changed your mind?” 

“Why on earth would I change my mind?” Cas asked, sounding a little incredulous. 

“I spent my whole adult life knowing that the man I loved didn’t want me. I think I’m allowed to have a little anxiety about this,” Dean mumbled, his eyes fixed on the deep blue of Cas’s tie. 

Cas pulled him closer then, so they were pressed together, a solid wall of warmth. One hand found it’s way to Dean’s neck, and the touch was so gentle that Dean almost wanted to cry. 

“This is happening, Dean,” Cas said to him, his voice deep and certain. 

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, and he sounded so small and pathetic even to his own ears. 

“There is no doubt in my mind,” Cas said, making Dean meet his eye, “What can I do to show you?” 

Dean swallowed, his throat thick at the intensity on Cas’s face.

“Just call me when it’s all over for good,” He said, nearly a whisper as he brought their foreheads back together, “Call me and I’ll be there.” 

“Okay,” Cas replied, closing his eyes as their noses brushed together, breathing the same air, lips almost touching, “I want to kiss you.” 

“Not yet,” Dean said, although he swore he could feel Cas’s lips when he moved his own to speak, “It’s not the right time.” 

Cas sighed, the breath of it huffing past Dean’s ear as Cas moved, pressing his cheek to Dean’s. 

“Sorry,” Dean offered as he wound his arms around Cas’s shoulders. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas said, still leaning into him, “You’re right.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, a wave of relief flooding through him, “I just think—it’ll be better this way.” 

“It will, I agree,” Cas said, pulling back from Dean, putting a little space back between them, “Can I call you on Thanksgiving?” 

“I’d like that,” Dean said, smiling, “I’m having dinner ready at one o’clock, so any time before then is perfect.” 

“I like that you cook,” Cas said, and the way his eyes swept over him gave Dean butterflies.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, “Maybe I’ll cook for you sometime.” 

“You’d better,” Cas said, his hands on Dean’s abdomen.

“Okay,” Dean replied, grinning despite himself. He took Cas’s hands in his own, putting some more space between them, “We should get moving. Can I drive you home?” 

Cas sighed, swinging their hands together gently. 

“Yeah, please.” He said, “The sooner this is all over, the better. It’s just a couple more days.” 

Dean pushed away from the wall, leading Cas over to where he’d parked the car. He missed Cas’s hand when he let go to get in the driver’s seat, but they found each other again, fingers lacing on the bench between them as Dean drove one handed. It was all he would allow himself for now, and he cherished it. They didn’t really speak as Dean navigated to Castiel’s house, but he felt eyes on him the whole way, and knew that Cas was watching him. He blushed a little, still not used to the attention. 

As he drove home, all he could think about was the way Cas had looked at him, just before getting out of the car. The way he turned back when he reached the front porch, watching Dean from the doorway. 

He wouldn’t see Cas again until Dick was gone. Or, he hoped that would be the case. He told himself not to get too excited, still aware that there was a chance that Cas would change his mind. He tried to put those thoughts out of his mind, but was only really successful during their phone call on Thursday. 

_ “What did you make?” _ Cas asked him.

“Turkey, cornbread. The usual suspects.” Dean said, smiling into his phone as he leaned against the bannister. He wasn’t hiding from anyone, he just didn’t particularly want anyone to know what he was doing, “I’m going to start the potatoes in about fifteen minutes.” 

_ “That sounds so good,” _ Cas sighed,  _ “I know this is presumptuous of me to say, but I wish I could be there with you.” _

“Me too,” Dean murmured, pleased to hear his own desires voiced back to him. Dean felt Cas’s absence strongly—it was the same gathering of people as two weeks ago, but this time Dean felt slightly adrift, unanchored in the mounting energy that was his family. Having Cas on the phone was almost like a lifeline, one he didn’t know he’d need.

_ “My mom always spends so long saying grace that the food is cold by the time she’s done. I don’t remember the last time I had a hot Thanksgiving meal,”  _ Cas said, sounding exasperated. 

“Next year,” Dean promised him, letting himself indulge, even if it was just for a second. 

_ “I’m holding you to it, Winchester,”  _ Cas said, a smile in his voice. 

It wasn’t until after he’d hung up and sent Cas a text to wish him good luck with his annoying family that Dean realized Sam was leaning against the kitchen archway, one eyebrow raised. 

“Who was that?” Sam asked him, the tone in his voice causing Dean’s stomach to sink just that little bit lower. 

“No one,” Dean said, not meeting his eye. 

“Sure sounded like  _ someone _ ,” Sam said, moving forward into Dean’s space, “I swear to god, Dean, if that was Cas—,”

“So what if it was?” Dean said, lifting his chin a fraction in defiance.

“So, we talked about this,” Sam said, “You said you were moving on. You’re just torturing yourself, Dean.” 

“No, it’s—,” Dean sighed, deflating again, “It’s different now. He’s going to leave his boyfriend.” 

“He’s going to? Or he has?” Sam asked, immediately pointing out what Dean hoped he wouldn’t. 

“It’s not like that,” Dean said, suddenly tired all the way down to his bones. 

“Then what is it like? All I see if my brother, who deserves better, getting strung along by some guy who’s in a long-term, committed relationship.” 

“He said he’s ending things with Dick as soon as he gets home from his parent’s house,” Dean said, arms crossed. 

“And you believe him?” Sam asked, his tone accusatory. 

"Fuck off. I don’t need you to tell me I’m pathetic, okay?" Dean said, shoving his phone in his pocket so he could point at Sam accusingly.

"I’m not, but what you're—,"

"I know I’m out on a limb here, but I need to take this risk. If it doesn’t work out... At least I’m trying.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Sam echoes, and leans back against the bannister next to him. “You love him, and you’re willing to put it all on the line for him. I think that’s brave."

Dean held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I just—" There it is. "You don’t need to get your heart broken by him again. And I hope you don’t. But if you do, I’ll just be here to give you whatever you need. You’re my brother and I love you.” 

God, and if that wasn’t more than Dean could handle. He sighed, deflating at the prospect of running to Sam with his tail between his legs. Eventually he nodded, bumping his shoulder against his brother’s. 

“Thanks,” He said, unable to think of anything more eloquent in the wake of Sam’s words. 

“No problem,” Sam said, bumping him back, “Let me know how it goes.” 

Dean nodded in agreement. 

  
  


While that conversation with Sam was reassuring, it didn’t exactly do much to ease Dean’s growing anxiety. The days crept by, and Dean was hyper aware of the fact that Monday had come and gone and he’d not heard a word from Cas. He knew he’d have a panic attack if he kept carrying on like that, so he tried to focus on other things. His father was doing well, and while it stressed him out, each day that passed meant another day that John had stayed sober. That was his silver lining, and he was sticking to it. 

Thankfully, the rescue of Lacey Gibson was making headlines nationwide. He spent a lot of his free time following the aftermath of the story, reading about how she’d managed to lock herself in the bathroom with a broken motel room phone. She’d had to repair it before she could call the police, saying she remembered learning about electric currents in science class. Dean silently commended the girl for managing to basically hotwire a landline phone, especially under pressure. 

She’d been returned to her parents, alive and physically unharmed. Her kidnapper remained unidentified to the general public, which was clamoring for a mugshot. Her parents had appeared on a local morning show, crying gratefully and answering questions—yes, Lacey was okay, aside from the trauma of being groomed and then held hostage. No, she would not return to school until the following year, her mother taking it upon herself to homeschool Lacey, keeping her close and safe. Dean couldn’t say that he blamed her. 

There were reports everyday, as more information was leaked to the press, details of where they’d stayed, what route they’d taken, what Lacey had been fed. It sparked a debate in the media about relationship age-gaps, and how children were being preyed on at far too young an age. Dean followed it all, almost religiously. Mostly to keep his mind off of Cas, but also because his life was connected to Lacey Gibson’s somehow, that her happy ending meant he might get one of his own. 

It was two weeks before he got the call. He was home alone, on Saturday night, channel surfing as he ignored the rapidly cooling dinner he’d made just for something to do. Seeing Cas’s name come up on his Caller ID nearly made his heart drop out of his stomach. 

“Cas?” He said, answering immediately. 

_ “Dean,” _ Cas said, sounding equally as urgent. 

“Where have you been? What’s going on?” 

_ “Dean, I wanted—I’m sorry, I know I’ve kept you waiting but I wanted to make sure he was completely gone. I wanted to start fresh with you.” _

Dean swallowed, waiting for a confirmation. 

“And?” He croaked out, his heart pounding. 

_ “And it’s over. He’s back in Sacramento with his parents. I packed up all of his things and the last of it was picked up by movers this morning,”  _ Cas said, his words coming out in a rush,  _ “I spent the whole day just cleaning everything I could think of, the whole bathroom, all the dishes, I bought new sheets and I polished every inch of anything he might have touched.”  _

“You didn’t need to do that, Cas,” Dean said, letting the words sink in. It was happening. Everything he’d wanted was going to happen. He had a chance. 

_ “I wanted to. I don’t want him anywhere near you. I think I may even sell the house and move somewhere he’ll never set foot.”  _

“He’s not entirely evil,” Dean said, a small smile on his face at the idea of Cas eradicating every trace of Dick from his life. 

_ “Well. The breakup wasn’t exactly amicable,”  _ Cas said, sounding tense. 

“It wasn’t? What happened?” Dean asked, suddenly a lot less content. 

_ “Nothing happened, it was just one awful, awkward argument after the next,” _ Cas replied, sighing a little. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, feeling weirdly guilty. 

_ “Don’t be. I’d do it ten more times if I needed to,” _ Cas said, casual as anything.

“So... What now?” Dean asked, a nervous feeling rising in his gut.

_ “I think you should come over,”  _ Cas said,  _ “I’d like to make you mine.”  _

Holy shit.

“Jesus, Cas... You can’t just say stuff like that,” Dean said, going a bit weak in the knees. 

_ “Why not? Are you going to come and stop me?”  _ Cas asked, his voice taking on a whole new tone that was less frazzled and more coy.

Dean gulped a little. 

“I’m on my way,” He said, picking up his keys and walking straight out the front door. 

It only took him fifteen minutes to drive over and park haphazardly at the curb outside Cas’s house, before he practically jogged up to the front porch. He didn’t even get a chance to knock, the door swung open in front of him, and Cas yanked him inside by the lapels of his jacket. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Cas said, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean suspected he was being smelled, and then he forgot what he was thinking about as he felt a tongue dart out to lick him, just below his ear. 

“You too,” Dean managed to say, lifting his hands, eager to get them onto Cas, anywhere he could. 

Suddenly, Cas’s mouth was pressed against his, wet and warm and just as good as it had been that first time. Dean leaned into the kiss, giving it everything he had. Surely this was heaven. 

“Is it too soon to suggest going to bed?” Cas mumbled against his lips, his body pressed so close to his own that it made Dean dizzy. 

“Lead the way,” Dean managed to say, his brain short circuiting. This moment. He’d wanted it all his life and now it was here, it was right now, and he was living it. 

Cas withdrew from Dean’s embrace, pulling him further into the house. 

He managed not to stumble over the steps as they ascended, his focus on the feel of Cas’s hand in his, the memory of sweet kisses. 

“In here,” Cas said, opening a door on the landing, “The guest room.” 

Dean paused in the doorway, surveying the bland room that reminded him so much of his own. 

“Guest room, huh? Must only be planning on a short stay,” he said weakly, mostly joking. 

Cas was on him in a heartbeat, Dean’s face in his hands. 

“No,” Cas said, his voice a low rumble as he stared Dean down, “I want you to myself. I got the bed brand new when I moved in. No one’s slept on it before. This is just for you and me.”

“Okay,” Dean said, immediately feeling mean, “I just meant—,” 

“It’s okay,” Cas said, smiling gently, “I know.” 

He pulled Dean in again, their lips meeting there on the threshold of this clean, unmarred bedroom that was meant only for them. 

“Dean,” Cas murmured against his lips, “I need you so badly.” 

Dean could tell, the hard line of his erection nudging Dean’s hip. He hesitated for a second, looking at Cas, and then at the bed. 

“I want you inside of me,” Dean said, soft as anything, painfully unsure of himself. 

Cas pulled back a little, his lips looking just like Dean’s, shiny from kissing and a little red. 

“Yes,” he said, and god he was beautiful, skin shining in the soft light from the lamp beside the bed, “If you’re sure.” 

“I am,” Dean replied, breathless. 

Cas smiled at him, small and intimate, before kissing him again, just once. His hands went to Dean’s belt buckle and Dean saw them shake slightly, knowing his own hands were probably doing something similar. 

Cas eased Dean’s jeans down his legs, pulling his socks off with them, so that he was only in his underwear, cock straining against his boxer briefs as he looked up at Cas. He waited, breath hitched, as Cas undid his own pants. It seemed to take forever, but then Cas was there in front of him, his thighs deliciously thick with his cock leaking against the cotton covering it. 

“Do you have stuff in here?” Dean asked, wanting a moment to calm down, feeling like he could come just from looking. 

“Stuff?” Cas asked, standing next to the bed, one hand trailing up Dean’s calf. 

“We need lube,” Dean blushed, “And a condom.” 

“Right,” Cas headed into the hall. Dean could hear him rooting around in a drawer, probably in the bathroom, every inch of him anticipating Cas’s return. The room felt so large without him. 

Dean rolled onto his side, eyes glued to the door until Cas appeared in the frame again, holding what looked like a brand new tube of KY in his hands. It matched the bed, Dean supposed. 

He climbed onto the bed, kneeling next to Dean. 

“Are you sure?” Cas asked again. 

“I am,” Dean said, nodding “Are you?” 

“Yes,” Cas said, and he leaned over Dean, kissing him again, slow and gentle. He pulled back, whispering against Dean’s lips, “I need to open you up.” 

Dean shivered at his words, the thought of it feeling surreal after so many nights on his own, imagining a moment like this. Cas sat up on his knees, and shoved his underwear down his thighs, revealing his dick. Dean swore his mouth watered at the sight of it, heart pounding at the reality of that dick being in front of him, after so many years of secret wondering. He knew he probably had an unfair bias, but he swore it was the loveliest dick he’d ever seen—thick and long, with a pretty head. He propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out to meet Cas with a fingertip, the pad of his index finger pressing against the slit at the top, thumb sliding under the crown, rubbing gently at the bundle of nerves there. 

Cas looked down at him, eyes hooded as Dean explored him, his breathing not quite ragged, not yet. 

Dean held Cas in his palm, the weight of his cock addictive. He sat up, moving nearer, wanting a better look. His eyes flicked up to meet Cas’s, and then back down to the prize in front of him. He’d imagined this cock, probably hundreds of times. And now there it was in his hand, more than what he’d hoped for. It looked so good that Dean leaned forward, tongue flicking against the head before he could process what he’d done. Cas exhaled above him, his eyes glittering when Dean looked up to meet them. 

“Dean,” Cas breathed out his name, watching as Dean pressed small kisses to his length, his tip, pre-come making his lips glisten. It sent a thrill through Dean’s gut to taste him, salty and strong. 

Cas pushed him onto his back, licking his mouth clean. Dean moaned, a small, soft thing as he felt Cas’s cock brush against his stomach, hot and hard. 

“Get these off,” Cas said, sliding a hand under the waistband of Dean’s briefs, pushing them down the curve of his ass. 

Next thing Dean knew, they were being kicked onto the floor and Cas had a hand behind his knee, hitching it up over his hip, pulling Dean flush against his body. They were so close, warm air shared between them, Dean’s eyes locked on Castiel’s. He slid a hand down between them, fingers lightly brushing Castiel’s dick. He wanted to take them both in his hand but he knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, so he busied himself with touching Cas, learning his girth and length, barely stroking him. 

Cas kissed him again, his hands all over Dean, running up the underside of his thigh, squeezing his ass. He was placing wet, open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s neck when Dean heard it, the click of a cap. Then wet fingers sliding between his cheeks, Cas reaching around him, holding him even tighter. Dean had to move his arm, gripping at Castiel’s neck so that their bodies could be as close together as possible. 

“Is this okay?” Cas asked him, voice so quiet between them, and Dean gasped a little, nodding his assent. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off Cas’s, navy blue in the half light of the room, and then he felt the first finger push into him. It was so good that his breath rushed out of him in one go, almost a moan but not quite. He felt safe in Cas’s arms, wrapped around his body as Cas prepared him, stretching him open. 

They kept kissing, Dean writhing against Cas as his finger pressed deeper, and then again when it was joined by another. Dean’s cock was leaking by that point, and he knew Cas’s was too, because he could feel it, the sticky wetness dragging against his stomach as they pushed ever closer. 

“More,” he gasped brokenly against Castiel’s lips, clutching at his shoulders as he moved back on Cas’s hand, gently twisting and flexing inside of him. 

“Soon,” Cas replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek, just left of his lips. 

“Don’t make me wait,” Dean said, and he hated himself a little for how desperate he sounded, how much he needed this. 

“Not long now,” Cas said, pressing deeper. 

They watched each other closely, sharing soft kisses as Cas stretched him open. Dean’s heart was pounding, still not quite sure how they ended up here so quickly after he walked in the front door, half convinced that he was dreaming. He’d had dreams like this before, of course. Never this real, but just as tantalizing. He hoped with all his heart that this was different, the stretch in his ass almost enough to assuage him. 

“I’m ready, Cas,” he said, three fingers full and panting, “Trust me.” 

Cas nodded, kissing him again, withdrawing his fingers slowly and wiping them on his own hip. 

“Classy,” Dean said, voice a little shaky with the gravity of what was about to happen. 

“Shut up,” Cas said, rolling his eyes, but he smiled anyway, kissing Dean again. 

Dean loved that Cas kept kissing him, knowing that he would likely never have his fill of Cas’s soft lips pressed to his. 

Cas nudged him over and then re-situated himself, so that Dean was on his back on the bed with Cas kneeling over him, between his spread legs. 

“Like this?” Cas asked him, and Dean nodded, securing Cas’s hips between his knees, pulling him closer. 

Cas smiled at him, reaching for the condom he’d left on the bed earlier. He had it rolled on in a matter of seconds and then Dean was struggling to breathe, the sight of Cas above him and between his legs too much, and he had to shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. 

“Dean,” Cas said, placing a warm hand on Dean’s stomach, “Hey, we don’t have to do this right now.” 

“I want to,” Dean said, eyes still closed, “I just need a second.” 

“Okay,” Cas said, rubbing soothing circles against Dean’s skin with his palm.

Dean’s eyes flickered open, and Cas was still there, handsome, strong Cas, with his lovely cock and his lovely eyes. 

“Come here,” Dean said, pulling Cas down on top of him so that their chests were flush. He could feel Castiel’s length between his cheeks, hot and heavy, and he hated himself some more for putting off what he wanted more than anything. 

“I need you in me,” he urged Cas, “Now.” 

“You sure?” Cas said, licking gently at his neck, his body pressing down against Dean’s, and it felt like he was made to be there, between Dean’s legs. 

“Yes,” Dean said, holding Castiel’s face in his hands, secure and boxed in by the strong arms either side of him. 

“Okay,” Cas said, gentle as anything, “Tell me if you change your mind.” 

“Tell me if you change yours,” Dean said, his hands dropping back to the mattress either side if their bodies. 

Cas looked at him for a moment, taking in his face. 

“I did,” He said, lips right against Dean’s. 

He reached down between them, lining himself up with Dean’s hole, the hot pressure already bordering on too much. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Cas’s face. 

“Look at me,” he said, urging Cas to meet his gaze. 

Cas began to press in, slow and firm, and he locked his eyes on Dean’s, his body sinking down to meet Dean’s as he pushed inside. 

Dean felt so hot, too hot, the stretch inside of him delicious, better than he’d ever imagined it could be. Cas’s eyes were on him, his body pressing down, a solid weight against Dean, holding him in place. 

Dean pulled Cas to him again, kissing him with an open mouth, sweat beginning to gather along his brow. He hoisted his legs higher, wrapping them around Cas’s waist, digging his ankles into his ass, driving him deeper. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Cas said then, his voice rough and his gaze steady. 

Dean blushed deeper, his face feeling hot, but he held his ground, eyes roaming over Cas’s face. 

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said, barely a whisper. 

“You deserved better than what I gave you,” Cas said, and it hurt all of a sudden. This wasn’t the time or place for that, so Dean took Castiel’s face in his hands again. 

“Make it up to me,” he said, rolling his hips. 

Cas’s breathing picked up, and he got with the program, starting off gentle. His thrusts were shallow but Dean felt every movement, hot and sweet, achingly tender. They rocked together, slowly, slowly. Dean could feel the sweat gathering along Castiel’s back, but still they continued, held close together, pleasured and gasping softly. The build was so gradual that they were halfway there before either of them realized it, Dean pulling Cas down to kiss him again. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of those lips against his.

It was better than anything Dean had ever had. He was warm, held tight in Castiel’s arms, spread open and vulnerable as Cas took care of him, shifting inside of him, kissing his face and neck and chest. Cas was panting, hot air rushing over Dean’s skin and feel of it was addictive. Dean circled his hips, slow and small movements, making Cas moan against his skin, his face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean pressed a kiss to his temple, lips coming away salty. 

“Cas,” He moaned, climbing ever closer to the edge. 

Cas sighed against his collarbone, grinding endlessly into Dean, so thick and so full. He lifted himself up a little, curled over Dean’s body, pressing a light kiss to his lips. He took Dean in his hand, his palm warm as it wrapped around his length, thumb rubbing at his slit. Dean moaned again, looking up at Cas from underneath hooded eyelids, his hands clenched against the plane of Cas’s shoulders.

“Are you going to come for me?” Cas asked, stroking Dean slowly, in time with the glacial movements of his hips. 

Dean nodded, panting as the tension blossomed inside of him, twisting ever tighter as Cas pushed in and out. 

“Do it,” he said, and Dean cried out, falling over the edge, spilling across his stomach, his seed running down Cas’s fist. 

“Fuck,” Cas said, stroking him through his orgasm, eyes flicking between Dean’s face and his dick, squeezing out the last few drops. Dean was panting, his eyes dewy and his smile loose as he looked up at Cas, his legs spread open in an invitation. 

“Fuck me,” Dean said, and Cas pushed in, harder than before but just as slow, until he came too, Dean’s name on his lips as he spent himself in Dean’s tight heat. He took Dean’s chin in his hand, pulling him in for another kiss, wet and messy as they basked in the immediate afterglow, still hard and panting. 

Cas pulled out then, gentle as anything, and Dean missed the feeling of him. His legs fell closed, suddenly shy. Cas discarded the condom in the trashcan beside the bed, before curling up beside Dean, pulling him in close. 

“I’m sure you want to clean up,” he muttered, lips buried in Dean’s hair, “But I just want to hold you for a moment.”

“I don’t mind it,” Dean said, running a finger through his come, lifting it to his lips and licking it clean. 

“God,” Cas breathed, his eyes still dark. Dean repeated the motion, holding it out to Cas, semen gathered across the pad of his finger. 

Cas never looked away from him, taking Dean’s finger into his mouth and tasting him. Dean smiled, leaning back into the pillows. Cas kissed him again then, both of them tasting like him, lips and tongues salty as they moved together. 

They got up eventually, Cas leading Dean to the bathroom for a warm washcloth and a fresh toothbrush. 

“Stay over,” Cas asked him, and Dean nodded, curling up in the covers of the guest bed beside the man he’d wanted his whole life. 

They lay close, legs tangled together as they drifted off. 

  
  


It was Sunday morning, and the whole world felt different. Hints of light peeked through soft calico curtains, the house quiet and still. Dean knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. How could he forget what had happened, the pleasurable sting in his ass when he shifted, the warm arm slung around his waist. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, his voice deep with sleep, the smile on his face evident by the way he sounded. 

“Morning,” Dean said, rolling to face him. Cas pulled him closer, pressing a series of soft, small kisses to his face. 

“It’s nice to see you,” Cas said, his hand trailing lazily down Dean’s spine. 

Dean smiled, one hand on Cas’s chest, like a tether, making sure he was still there. 

“What time is it,” Dean asked, not wanting to move just yet.

“Still early,” Cas said, arms tightening around him, “Stay here with me.” 

“Okay,” Dean agreed. He let himself indulge in as many kisses as he wanted, nibbling at Cas’s lip, biting softly at his neck before coming back up for more kissing, their noses touching sweetly. 

“What do you want to do today?” Cas asked several minutes later. 

“Just this,” Dean said, shifting so he could reach more of Cas’s face with his lips. 

“Can I take you somewhere?” Cas said, the hand on Dean’s hip squeezing a little tighter. 

“Where?” Dean asked, pulling back slightly so he could make eye contact. 

“Someplace special,” Cas said, evading the question, “Do you trust me?” 

Dean took a moment, looking at the man in bed with him. It had been a long road to get here, but ultimately, Cas had broken up a serious relationship just to be with Dean. His heart fluttered at the thought. Did he trust Cas? 

Of course he did. 

“Yes,” He said, quiet, nodding to emphasise his answer. 

“Okay. Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” Cas said, rolling out of Dean’s arms to stand up. 

“Right now?” Dean asked, more confused than ever. 

“Yes, right now,” Cas replied, his smile small and his eyes twinkling. 

Dean realized then that he would do pretty much anything Cas asked of him, so he dutifully began dressing in yesterday’s clothes. It took him a minute to find his briefs, so Cas was already in the kitchen when Dean got there. 

“Where are we going?” Dean asked. 

“You’ll see,” Cas said, taking his hand, “It’s important.” 

“Okay,” Dean let Cas lead him out of the house, “Want to take my car?” 

“I need to drive Dean, I’m not telling you where we’re going,” Cas said, looking at Dean like he’d caught on to some sneaky plan. 

“You can drive her,” Dean said, stopping on the lawn next to the impala. Cas turned to look at him. 

“Really?” He asked, seemingly in disbelief. 

“Yeah. You asked if I trust you, and I do. You can drive her,” He said, feeling a little raw at the fact that he admitted all of that, outside and in public, where anyone could see them—even if it was still dark out. 

Cas looked at him, smiling so fondly that Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. He almost stumbled over the curb on his way around to the passenger side of the car, sliding in next to Cas on the leather bench. 

“Should I close my eyes?” He said weakly, joking a little to alleviate the tension he’d just created within himself. 

“Yes, actually,” Cas said, starting the car and backing away from the curb. 

Dean did as he was told, closing his eyes and slumping down in the seat. The radio was on, playing quietly in the background. The road noise was soothing and Dean could see flashes of light across his face whenever they passed under a street light. 

He reached out to Cas, across the bench seat, not wanting to be alone in that moment. Cas complied, taking his hand and weaving their fingers together. 

“Are we there yet?” Dean said at some point, his forehead against the frosty glass of the window. He imagined his breath coming out in little clouds in front of him. 

“Nearly,” Cas responded, focusing on steering the car. 

“Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?” Dean asked, tempted to crack an eye open. 

“Yes,” Cas said, “I’m a killer with great work ethic and like to get everything finished before dawn.” 

“I knew it,” Dean mumbled, starting to feel a little sleepy, the gentle motion of the car soothing him. He was so out of it that he didn’t notice when Cas parked the car, not realizing they’d stopped until Cas shook him gently. 

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? I’m going to help you out of the car,” Cas said, sliding out the driver’s side door. 

Dean waited patiently, slowly getting out of the car at Cas’s instruction, and then following where he was led, all with his eyes closed. 

“There had better be pancakes involved in this,” He said, though he knew there wouldn’t be—they were still outside and he didn’t smell anything cooking. It felt like they were on a gravel path. 

“Maybe after,” Cas said, sounding distracted, like he wasn’t here with Dean. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, worried he’d said something wrong. 

“Just a little nervous,” Cas replied, squeezing Dean’s hand in his own. Dean let him be for the moment. He figured he’d be more equipped to deal with this when his eyes were open. 

“We’re here,” Cas said, “You can, uhh... You can open your eyes.” 

And so Dean opened them. The first thing he saw, obviously, was Cas. His cheeks were flushed in the cold air, the tip of his nose a little red. The next thing he saw was a lake, with a dock. 

The dock. Dean hadn’t been here in close to ten years. Suddenly his insides writhed like snakes. 

“Cas,” Dean said, tentatively, “Why are we here?” 

“I was thinking,” Cas started, “And I realized that this place is not a good memory for us.” 

Dean nodded, looking down the length of the wooden walkway in front of him. It looked different than he remembered. Maybe it was the cold light of a winter morning, or maybe it was the vast stretch of time since his last visit. 

“I’m a little confused,” Dean said, his palm feeling sweaty against Cas’s. 

“I want this to be a happy place for us, Dean,” Cas replied, “I want to make good memories with you. New ones.” 

Dean turned back to Cas, whose face looked so earnest that it made Dean’s chest ache. 

“How do you plan on doing that?” He asked, still a little thrown by this whole endeavour. 

Cas pulled at his arm, walking them down the length of the dock. The water swirled beneath them, a thin layer of ice beginning to break apart as small, rolling waves formed. 

They stood at the end, looking out into the lake, pink covering most of the horizon, day break right on the cusp of the world. 

“This is probably really cheesy,” Cas said, pulling Dean from his own thoughts, “But I wanted to bring you here so we could try this again.” 

Dean swallowed, watching Cas as he spoke. 

“I know I can’t change the past. And I know that I hurt you,” Cas said, looking a little stricken, “For a long time, I hurt you.” 

Dean nodded, not really sure what to say. 

“But I think—and I hope you agree with me, Dean, but it’s okay if you don’t,” Cas said, his grip on Dean’s hand tighter than ever, “I think it’s time we try to make things right.” 

“What are you saying Cas?” Dean asked, his heart in his throat. 

“I’m saying that I love you,” Cas said, letting it all out in one breath, like he’d been struggling to hold it in, “I really do.” 

Dean was left reeling, the words bouncing around his brain. 

“You—what?” he asked, feeling a little light headed. 

“I love you. I think I loved you then, but I didn’t know what it meant. And I know for certain that I love you now. I think from the moment I set eyes on you again.”

Dean shook his head a little, trying to make sure he was hearing things right. 

“You’re serious?” He asked, his voice cracking. 

“Yes,” Cas said, his eyes boring into Dean’s. 

“And this isn’t a trick?” Dean asked, needing to know, wanting to make double sure that what he was hearing was real. 

“Do you really think I’d do that to you?” Cas asked, pulling Dean closer to him. 

“No,” Dean said, realizing that Cas wouldn’t, “Fucking hell.” 

“Please don’t feel any pressure,” Cas said, “If you want to walk away right now, I would—I would understand.” 

Dean looked at him again, his mouth open a little in disbelief. 

“Are you kidding?” He said, a laugh spilling from his lips, “I’ve been waiting for this, wanting this moment my whole life. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He leaned in to kiss Cas, needing to share this euphoric feeling that was overflowing within him, feeling Cas smile against his mouth, both of them cold but neither of them caring. 

“And,” Cas started to say, pulling back a little, “Don’t feel like you have to say anything back, I know it’s best if we just start slow.” 

“Say anything back?” Dean said, raising his eyebrows, “Cas, you’re the one saying it back, I beat you to the punch by about nine damn years.” 

Cas smiled at him then, all teeth and gums. 

“You mean that?” he said, wrapping his arms around Dean, pulling him as close as possible. 

“Yes, you dummy,” Dean said, blushing a little at his own words, “I, uhh—you’re not easy to stop loving, you know?” 

“I don’t,” Cas said, looking at him coyly, “But I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Great,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “Can we go back to bed now?” 

“I thought you wanted pancakes?” Cas asked, as they set off back towards the car.

“I do, but I want you again first,” Dean said, swinging their hands gently between them. 

“Okay,” Cas replied, “Then let’s go home.”

“I’d like that,” Dean said, feeling warm right to his core. 

Cas smiled at him. He looked as though he was glowing, bathed in the bright morning light that began to spill over the horizon. 

Dawn had broken. It was a new day.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Tad-da! 
> 
> That's all folks. Please let me know what you thought, I am so excited to scream abt this fic with someone.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr at mom-i-watch-gay-porn.tumblr.com if y'all want to come hang out.


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